CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(Monographs) 


ICMH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographies) 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  histo.  .^ues 


I      ^y^y 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Noi  3  techniques  et  b;bliograph;ques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  original 
copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 


n 


Coloured  covers  / 
Couverlure  de  couleur 


I      I   Co  p-s  damaged  / 


Couverturec.  dommagee 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restauree  et/ou  pelliculee 


D 

I      I    Cover  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 
I I    Coloured  maps  /  Carles  geographiques  en  couleur 

□ 


Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


I      I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations  / 


D 
D 
D 


D 


D 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


Bound  with  other  material  / 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 


Only  edition  available  / 
Set '    edition  disponible 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion  along 
interior  margin  /  La  reliure  serree  peut  causer  de 
I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorsion  le  long  de  la  marge 
interieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorations  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have  been 
omitted  from  filming  /  Use  peut  que  certaines  pages 
blanches  ajoutees  lors  d'une  restauration 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  lorsque  cela  eiait 
possible,  ces  pages  n'ont  pas  ete  filmees. 

Additional  comments  / 
Commentaires  supplementaires: 


L'Institut  a  microfilme  le  meilieur  exemplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
ete  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire qui  sont  peut-etre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modification  dans  la  m6tho- 
de  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 

Coloured  pages  /  Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged  /  Pages  endommagees 


n 


Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaurees  et/ou  pellicul^es 


I — 7|  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 

I  '^   I  Pages  decolorees,  tachetees  ou  piquees 

I      I  Pages  detached  /  Pages  d^tachees 

I  M  Showthrough  /  Transparence 


n 


D 


Quality  of  print  varies  / 
Qualite  inegale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 

Pages  whol'y  or  partially  obscured  by  errata  slips, 
tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  totalement  ou 
partiellement  obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata.  une 
pelure,  etc.,  ont  ete  filmees  a  nouveau  de  fafon  a 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 

Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant  ayant  des 
colorations  variables  ou  des  decolorations  sont 
filmees  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la  meilleure  image 
possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below  / 

Ce  document  est  fi!m«  »u  taux  de  reduction  indique  ci-dessous. 


lOx 


14x 


18x 


22x 


26x 


30x 


12x 


16x 


20x 


24  x 


28x 


32x 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

National    Library  of  Canada 


L'exemplaire  film*  fut  reproduit  grace  d  la 
g^n^rosit*  de: 

Bibliotheque  nationale  du  Canada 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Onginal  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  syml  )l  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  iti  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin.  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nenet*  de  lexempiaire  film*,  et  en 
conformit*  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Lea  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
pepier  est  imprimie  sont  filmAs  en  commencant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film*s  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  compone  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derni*re  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
derniAre  image  de  chaque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ♦■  signifie  "A  SUIVRE ".  le 
symbole  V  signifie   "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  etre 
film*s  i  des  taux  de  reduction  diffirents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  etre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich*.  il  est  film*  i  partir 
de  Tangle  sup*rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite. 
et  de  haut  en  bas.  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'im»ges  n*cossaire.  Les  diagrammos  suivants 
iilustrent  !a  m*thode. 


1 

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MICROCOPY    RESOIUTION    TEST    CHART 

ANSI  and  iSO  TEST  CHART  No    2 


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RHYMES     OF 
A     ROUNDER 


B, 


TOM    M  c  I  N  N  E  S 


Author    of 
IN     AMBER     LANDS 

With    cover    detitfn    by 

"PAL" 


BROADWAY  PUBLISHING    CO. 

835   "Broadway,   New   Yori   City 


\\ 


«   I  .  «,>h 


f'..pyrip:ht,  VJl'6 
BY 

TOM  McINNICS 


J 


Slfymrfi  of  a  fiouniiFr 


Somewhat  Concerning  Ballades 


ONE  morning  in  September  I  was  strolling 
downhill  toward  the  gray  waterfront  of 
Montreal.  It  was  a  morning  to  make  one 
polite,  and  I  was  on  business  of  no  particular 
importance.  Passing  a  fruit-stall.  I  saw  a  little  boy 
looking  wistfully  at  a  heap  of  August  apples.  They 
were  streaked  with  red  and  pale  green,  and  to  a  know- 
ing eye  well  advertised  the  delicious  tart  juicinesi 
between  the  core  and  the  peel.  In  my  mood  I  asked 
the  boy  to  have  some.  He  filled  his  pockets,  and  I 
took  a  couple  for  myself.  They  smelt  good,  and  we 
ate  them  as  two  comrades,  and  with  much  smacking 
of  our  lips,  on  our  way  down  a  quiet  side  street. 

Already  the  remote  air  of  autumn  was  over  the  city. 
Domes  and  steeples,  churches,  hotels,  tenements, 
gaunt  factories  and  commercial  palaces,  all  alike  were 
steeped  in  a  fine  polden  haze.  The  trees  were  color- 
ing red  and  yellow  in  the  surpassing  way  of  Eastern 
Canada.  About  our  autumn  there  is  a  lethal  glamour; 
it  is  forever  hinting  at  perennial  loveliness  beyond  the 
mould  and  compass  of  this  world;  in  high  faith  de- 
claring it,  even  while  sinking  before  the  desolate,  des- 
perate, white  face  ot  winter.  And  in  the  fey  light  of 
that  morning,  and  the  apparent  pass.ng  of  things,  I 

1 


■f. 


went  figuring  another  mode  of  time,  wherein  the  world 
and  all  is  more  happily  perceived.  To  my  immediate 
environment,  however,  I  was  recalled  by  a  delighted 
exclamation  from  the  boy.  He  had  his  eye  on  a  gory 
picture,  displayed  in  a  shop  window,  by  which  he 
halted.  There  was  a  battle  scene  from  some  belated 
Christmas  annual;  furious  masses  of  men;  trampling 
horses;  the  glint  of  sword  and  bayonet;  the  reek  of 
cannon;  uproar,  blood,  and  fire.  He  wanted  the  pic- 
ture very  much,  and  that  morning  found  that  so  far 
as  I  was  concerned  to  ask  was  to  receive. 

The  shop  from  the  outside  was  dingy  and  altogether 
unpromising.  But  within  there  seemed  to  me  a  per- 
fect treasure-trove  of  books.  They  were  stacked  in 
rather  disorderly  fashion  on  counter  and  shelves; 
many  books  greatly  valued  by  a  few,  others  to  meet  a 
more  general  taste,  but  little  of  the  whole  store  really 
popular  except  the  magazines.  Because  of  dusty 
panes,  and  patches  of  brown  and  yellow  paper  pasted 
on  them  where  the  sun  shone  through,  there  was  an 
atmosphere  in  the  shop  that  made  me  think  of  amber 
and  meerschaum.  There  were  bluish  rays  through  it 
from  two  small  windows  at  the  rear.  The  bibliopole 
in  charge  looked  like  a  wood-cut  from  an  early  edition 
of  Dickens  or  Balzac.  He  was  rather  tall  and  spare  of 
frame,  with  a  thin  gray  whisker,  and  he  peered  at  me 
with  eyes  guileless  as  those  of  a  baby  or  an  old  sea 
captain.  His  manner  was  courteous,  but  all  the  while 
he  seemed  intent  on  somethmj  quite  apart  from  his 

2 


Hi 


I 


I 


SljgmrB  of  a  fiounhpr 

shop  and  his  customer.  I  felt  that  he  was  more  or  less 
indifferent  about  the  sale  of  books,  and  that  he  would 
much  rather  talk  of  them  to  any  one  whom  he  could 
deem  an  equal  in  bibliography.  My  esteem  for  him 
was  deepened  by  repeated  visits,  and  I  found  that  he 
had  a  notable  class  of  patrons.  Eventually  he  got  the 
notiori  that  I  had  a  taste  for  verse  of  the  exotic  or 
decadent  order.  This  I  might  have  denied,  but  on  my 
second  visit  to  his  shop  I  happened  to  ask  if  he  knew 
of  any  good  metrical  translation  of  Baudelaire,  and 
from  that  question  I  suppose  he  came  to  a  conclusion. 
It  sei  ved  to  give  me  a  somewhat  hazy  interest  in  his 
eyes,  so  I  played  up  to  the  role  assigned  me,  and  as  a 
result  he  brought  various  books  to  my  attention  which 
had  b  n  before  that  unknown  to  me.  Among  other 
things  needed  for  my  education,  he  suggested  an  an- 
thology of  English  verse  done  in  antique  Romanesque 
and  Gallic  forms. 

I  alv/ays  approach  an  anthology  in  the  same  dull, 
half-hearted  way  that  I  do  a  picture  gallery  or  a  table- 
d'hote  dinner.  The  things  presented  mix  in  spite  of 
me;  they  acquire  a  composite,  inferior  flavor  from 
each  other;  I  get  stuffed  without  any  distinct  satis- 
faction. In  an  anthology  there  is  nothing  to  match; 
one  poem  jars  with  another ;  there  is  not  that  harmo- 
nizing undertone  imparted  to  a  volume  by  a  single 
author,  whose  manner  and  personality  prevails  through 
every  line  from  the  first  to  the  last  page.  So  I  was 
not  at  first  rightly  made  acquainted  with  these  intri- 

3 


3 


l&tf^mB  of  a  IBiamhn 

cate  medieval  forms.    For  all  practical  purposes  I  had 
been  Ignorant  of  them  until  I  bought  the  anthology. 
Of  their  value  in  old  French,  or  as  to  how  well  they 
satisfied  an  ancient  demand.  I  cannot  judge,  for  I  am 
not  learned  in  these  matters.     But  from  what  I  read 
of  them  they  seemed  for  the  most  part  parlor  trifJes 
curios  m  rhyme,   verbal  bric-a-brac  to  the  vigor  of 
English  unsuited.     I  found  a  few  turned  out  in  slang 
by  Halverson  of  Toronto-ballade,  villanelle.  triolet 
rondeau  and  roundel-more  to  my  liking  than  the  la- 
bored  conceits  of  the  anthology.    And.  doubtless,  in 
Old  Provence,  when  some  troubadour-knight  would 
set  forth  in  springtime,  with  merry  jongleurs  by  his 
side,  to  visit  a  neighboring  castle,  his  plaints  and  love- 
songs  uttered  in  these  involved  forms  made  good  lis- 

th^;;;^T    °,''  ^"  Jl'  ^"^''""-     ^^^  *"  ^^^^  attempting 
them  I  felt  as  if  I  were  fingering  obsolete  instruments 
m  the  dead  atmosphere  of  a  museum;  rotes,  rebecks, 
ghitterns,  theorbos,   gigues.   cloncordes.  galoots,  and 
what  not  troubadourish  fiddles;  goblin-bellied  things 
fantastically  stringed;  well  enough  one  time  maybe 
for  a  low  serenade  to  some  lady  barely  out  of  reach, 
but  now  fit   for   little   more   than   a  toy  symphony 
However.  I  am  quite  ready  to  admit  that  these  form 
may  have  merit  beyond  my  appreciation.    Certainly  I 
have  never  been  so  crass  as  to  undervalue  precise  form 
n  verse.     Quite  the  contrary.     To  me  some  verse- 
^rms  are   destinate  vehicles   of  poetic   emotion;   so 
much  so  as  to  appear  in  the  order  of  nature.     For 


just  as  various  minerals  strive  to  crystal  according  to 
the  pattern  chosen  by  their  informing  spirit,  so  cer- 
tain moods  will  seek  formal  verbal  expression,  will 
seek  to  crystallize,  and  in  so  doing  achieve  an  eflFect 
beyond  the  mere  meaning  of  the  words.  Some  of  these 
forms    will   appear   and    persist   through    many    lan- 
guages.   These  are  essential  forms,  determined  not  so 
much  by  the  style  or  measure  of  a  line  as  by  the  com- 
bination of  lines  in  a  stanza  and  the  rhyme  sequence. 
They  have  a  quality  akin  to  polarity.     Consider,  for 
instance,  the  Italian  sonnet;  its  octave  and  sestet,  its 
measures  and  rhyme-sequence,  are  no  more  arbitrary 
or  artificial  than  the  cube  or  hexagon  or  octagon  in 
which  some  minerals  express  their  highest  vital  ac- 
tivity.    The  English  sonnet,  the  one  original  poetic 
form  used   by   Shakespeare,   altho   inferior  in   form- 
value    to    the    Italian,    is    nevertheless    an    essential 
form  if  written  as  four  alternately-rhyming  quatrains 
clinched  by  a  couplet.    When  it  does  not  show  these 
lines  of  cleavage  it  is  merely  a  fourteen-line  poem, 
which  can  be  as  well  done  with  twelve  or  sixteen  lines 
so  far  as  nicety  of  form  goes.    I  had  a  fair  acquaint- 
ance with  all  verse  forms  made  native  to  English  in 
the  past,  and  after  some  examination  of  the  Roman- 
esque forms  in  the  aforesaid  anthology  I  felt  entitled 
to  express  an  opinion  concerning  them.    Of  these  re- 
stricted forms  it  seemed  to  me  that  with  the  exception 
of  the  Italian  sonnet  there  was  nothing  to  equal  in 
fcrm-value  the  French  ballade.     Yet  in  English  we 

5 


«l?am^a  of  a  Snun&^r 

find  a  hundred  good  sonnets  for  one  good  ballade 
An.,  some  wrxters  ask  why.  for  the  forms  are  equally 
anient    and  the  one  is  no  more  difficult  of  acWeve 
ment  than  the  other.     Yet  the  true  reason  should  be 

the  fate  of  the  Italian  sonnet  in  English  if  Petrarch 

firmed  1''T  """^^^^  ^"'  °**^^^   ^^^^-^  ^^oTn- 
rhTr^l    :  '^'^'  '''   '^^"   "^'^^^^  -to  -aking  the 

master  wou,H  H      "'  "'^  '*^  ^"^^  *'^^  '^'^t"  School- 
master would  have  ms.sted  upon  keeping  such  a  bie 

d  um  blunder  unaltered,  and  would  have  been  super 
-hous  toward  any  other  form  and  called  i  i,  eg7t . 
tTmes\orsrr  he  impertinently  applies  some- 
neUn  Enlr  ,^^"'^"P"^'""  ^°""^t-  The  Italian  son- 
net  m  Enghsh  would  then  have  been  as  blighted  with 

banar^'xrth^  "°"'  'r  '''  '"^^^  P-^'    '^^  F-  H 
in  "  w- h  Pallid':  s^tu^re""  '''^  ^^^^  ^'^  '-^■ 

To  lift  1  r^    r  "  language  the  forms  pass  on 

a  bit  lf\^'"?"  '^°"  °"^  ^^"^"^g«  to  another  "s 
a  bit  of  magic  seldom  accomplished.  But  it  is  don. 
at  times  without  ln«  •  ;♦  «,       !.  "°ne 

The  fine  Cuh  of  c  "J  T^r""  =°'"'  ^''"• 
scholars  ,  rnh!,hf  •     ^"""'"  "^  ""her  Elizabethan 

F..zge.al.  ,avc  O.ar  .o  us,  sl^^lrZyZ-'^ 

6 


r'^d 


given  Shakespeare  to  the  Germans.  But  such  trans- 
lations are  indeed  rare.  Poetic  forms,  however,  are 
easily  adapted  from  one  language  to  another;  in  fact, 
the  forms  will  outlast  the  language  in  which  they  first 
appear.  In  some  languages  we  find  an  excess  of 
rhyme,  rich  or  insipid,  according  to  the  twist  of  our 
ear.  This  seems  to  have  been  especially  true  of  the 
Lang  d'Oc.  About  the  cord  of  that  language  the  poets 
of  Provence  gave  first  shape  to  the  alba,  serena,  sir- 
vente,  canza,  rondel,  triolet,  virelai,  villandle,  and 
other  verse-forms.  Truly  crystalline  they  appear,  but 
blurred  with  unvaried  rhyme.  For  excuse  it  may  be 
said  that  in  the  Lang  d'Oc  it  was  probably  more  dif- 
ficult to  keep  the  rhymes  out  of  a  stanza  than  put  them 
in,  and  so,  in  order  to  maintain  the  metrical  restric- 
tions and  exclusiveness  which  some  poets  think  a  nec- 
essary part  of  theii  art,  most  of  these  poems  were 
made  to  keep  to  one  set  of  rhymes,  those  asso- 
ciated in  the  first  stanza.  This  custom  added  to  the 
difficulties  of  achievement,  but  largely  at  the  expense 
of  virility,  color  and  euphony,  the  qualities  most  worth 
while  in  any  poem.  These  troubadours  of  Provence 
trained  themselves  to  many  vaudeville  tricks  as  a  part 
of  their  calling,  such  as  catching  apples  on  the  point 
of  a  dagger,  leaping  through  rings,  playing  a  great  va- 
riety of  instruments  in  difficult  positions.  It  was  all 
taken  as  part  of  their  profession.  And  so  quite  natur- 
ally the  spirit  of  vaudeville,  the  love  of  aptly  doing 
difficult  things  in  the  most  difficult  way,  made  its  in- 

7 


,  ifr 


i4!: 


'A 


fluence    felt    in    their    verse-making.      The    poets    of 
Northern  France,  whose  tongue  was  destined  to  sur- 
vive the  Lang  d'Oc,  took  over  these  Provence  forms 
TJIVI  ^^^'^,7"otone  rhyme  system,  and  still  fur- 
lade  iT^'i  '''"•    ^'^"  ^PP"^*^^  ^^^  French  bal- 
ade  and  the  chant  royal,  the  latter  a  monster  of  intri- 
cate monotony  wh,ch  in  English  is  fairly  humpbacked 
w  th  the  rhyme  U  carries.    It  staggers  to  a  weary  close 
after  supportmg  sixty-one  lines  on  a  shift  of  only  five 
i^me-tones.    Those  who  achieve  these  things  may  be 

Arsons'?    "'•*'°''  "'°  ^''  '^^'^^^  °^  ^'^^^  -ay  be 
persons  of  prec.se  culture;  but  musicians  they  are  not 

vaudewile' t""''  I'  '  ^"^'  '°^  ^^^  '^^^  °^^  ^^ 
otherTf  tf  '"TP^^"^  '-^  -«"«•     And  so  with  some 

sest  na      Th"      Tl  ''"'  '"'^^  ''  ^^''^'  ^^^^^y  the 
sestina.     They  all.  however,  have  been  seriously  and 

exhaustively  discoursed  upon  by  old  writers      If  onf 

tne  year  1390,  when  appeared  "The  Art  of  Makinir 
Chansons.  Ballades,  Virelais  and  Rondels,"  by  S 
tache  Deschamps:  about  a  century  later  H,nr„  / 
Croi  published  "The  Art  and  Science e  of  Rhe.orfc  t 
"se";V  "'T''  ""  «="="«••=  then  iZl", 
ed  ?n  "The.""  r""'"  ■^""P"  ™  ""  '°™=  collect- 
Maurus;  and  so  on  down  the  centuries,  until  in  EnT. 

Parlian:."™!!  ">  ^"f  °°''""-  '"  '"e  Library  ff 
t-arliament  are  several  such  books.  But  there  is  snnT. 
danger  .n  the  study  of  then,;  you  wiU  ri^k  the'obr 

8 


%l|gmFB  of  a  Somtbrr 

sion  of  rules ;  you  may  become  a  mere  metrical  virtu- 
oso, and  lose  what  poetic  vision  you  have ;  either  that, 
or  you  will  begin  to  scunner  at  all  verse.  The  fine 
points  of  poetic  form  should  be  apparent  at  sight; 
should  be  appreciated  without  study;  should,  above 
all,  not  be  rendered  distasteful  by  pedantic  anatomy. 
One  admires  a  beautiful  body,  but  the  sense  of  beauty 
vanishes  with  dissection.  Beauty  can  never  be  the 
subject  of  precise  analysis;  it  can  never  be  evoked  by 
formulas.  Beauty  is  a  spirit  of  which  we  are  for  a 
moment  aware  through  some  inexact  synthesis  of  odor, 
color,  sound,  shape,  motion,  or  verbal  allusion.  It 
arouses  in  varying  degree  a  characteristic  emotion, 
somehow  reminiscent,  somehow  premonitory,  under 
stress  of  which  we  vaguely  feel  the  need  of  other 
senses  with  which  to  embrace  something  supremely 
desirable  and  presently  unattainable.  Beauty  for  our 
perception  must  have  a  body  of  some  kind,  but  being 
too  finical  as  to  its  body  is  the  surest  way  to  lose  it- 
And  so  while  poetic  technique  is  well  enough  in  its 
way.  yet  verse  whose  excellence  is  estimated  by  good 
conduct  marks  for  obedience  to  rules  and  established 
usage  has  but  the  lowest  form  of  beauty;  it  sinks  to 
the  level  of  being  merely  skilful,  mathematic,  or  true 
to  type.  And  this  is  well  shown  of  ballads  and  bal- 
lades, concerning  which  I  have  learned  a  little  for 
those  who  may  be  willing  to  take  my  say-so  without 
troubling  further. 
There  is  a  Latin  verb,  "ballare,"  to  dance.     Ball, 

Q 


I 


fiI?amM  of  a  finmifter 

ballet,  billiards,  ballad  and  ballade  all  come  out  of  this 
verb.  But  now  a  ballad  has  little  to  do  with  dancing, 
and  a  ballade  nothing.  Yet  always  a  thing  is  older 
than  us  name,  and  like  enough  the  ballad  as  a  com- 
bmation  of  song  and  dance  was  universal  long  before 
Latin  was  contrived ;  probably  it  was  familiar  to  folk 
of  the  Stone  Age.  Touching  on  this  point,  Puttenham 
said  some  time  ago: 

"Poesic  is  more  ancient  than  the  artificiall  of  the 
Greeks  and  Latines.  and  used  of  the  savage  and  un- 
civill,  who  were  before  all  science  and  civilitie.  This 
is  proved  by  certificate  of  merchants  and  travellers 
who  by  late  navigations  have  surveyed  the  whole 
world,  and  discovered  wild  people,  strange  and  savage, 
afSrmmg  that  the  American,  the  Perusine.  and  the 
very  Caniball  do  sing  and  also  say  their  highest  and 
holiest  matters  in  certain  riming  versicles."— Art  of 
English  Poesie,  1589. 

The  ballad  as  a  popular  song,  the  ballad  as  a  popu- 
lar epic,  and  the  ballade  as  a  highly  evolved  poetic 
form  beyond  popular  appreciation  have  this  one  feat- 
ure ,n  common-the  repetition  of  idea  and   phrase 
This  repetition  is  irregular  in  most  songs  and  epics 
regulated  in  such  forms  as  the  English  roundelay  and 
the  Scotch  ring-sang,  and  precise  in  the  ballade,  as 
hereafter  shown.     It  is  worth  noting  that  the  Eng- 
lish term  "roundelay"  is  applied  equally  to  songs  and 
dances  in  which  certain  parts  are  repeated  at  set  in- 
tervals. This  tendency  to  rhythmic  repetition  continues 

10 


Slfgm^a  of  a  Snimd^r 

through  all  songs  sung  by  men  in  the  open,  and  gen- 
erally appears  in  the  song  and  dance  ballads  rendered 
by  the  cantabanks  of  modern  vaudeville.  Here  is  a 
specimen  stanza,  picked  up  at  random  on  the  wharves 
of  Montreal: 


As  I  went  strolling  down  the  street, 
All  in  the  town  of  Rio, 

A  damsel  neat  I  chanct  to  meet 
Who  closed  at  me  one  eye-o, 
Who  winkt  at  me  her  eye-o  1  (jig  ad  lib.) 

Note,  please,  the  last  two  lines.  They  exemplify  a 
certain  poetic  device  used  as  naturally  and  instinc- 
tively now  by  common  song-smiths  as  it  was  used 
ages  ago  in  primitive  Hebrew  prosody.  I  mean  the 
repetition  of  the  same  idea  with  some  variation  of 
words.  Why  this  trick  should  be  pleasing  or  effec- 
tive I  do  not  know;  but  at  times  it  is  so  very  much. 
Perhaps  it  has  some  hypnotic  influence.  David  con- 
tinually resorted  to  it  in  his  psalms:  and  it  has  been 
used  by  many  writers  of  English  verse.  I  quote  the 
following  examples  as  I  find  them  ready  to  hand; 
there  may  be  others  better: 


!li 


Praise  him  upon  the  loud  cymbals: 

Praise  him  upon  the  high-sounding  cymbals. 

—David. 


Our  soul  is  bowed  down  to  the  dust: 
Our  belly  deaveth  unto  the  earth. 


n 


—David. 


w 


«l?HmPB  of  a  JRnuniipr 

He  raiseth  the  poor  out  of  the  dust- 
He  hiteth  the  needy  out  of  the  dunghUl. 

—David. 

As  the  scoriae  rivers  that  roll 

As  the  lavas  that  restlessly  roU 

In  flf""  =;"'P^"fO"s  torrents  down  Yaanek 
In  the  ultimate  climes  of  the  pole: 

In  tht*  *'^?*"  as  they  roll  down  Mount  Yaanek 
In  the  realms  of  the  boreal  pole.  »aanek 

—Edgar  Allan  Poe. 
And  suddenly  'twixt  his  hand  and  hers 

No  Sn""^  ""k  '*'"'y  withered  years- 
No  flower,  but  twenty  shrivellid  years. 

—Francis  Thompson. 

My  theory  is  that  certain  emotions,  ranging  from 
nbald  to  sacred,  if  awakened  in  men  of  certain  brain 
and  temperament,  will  manifest  fixt  verbal  forms,  irre- 
spectiye  of  age  or  language,  as  fitly  and  inevitably  as 
crystals  about  a  cord,  or  frost-flowers  upon  a  window- 
pane. 

These  forms  vary  greatly  in  construction  and  in- 

tar'v'L  J  '^'  "^'^'"'^^  ^'^'y  ^PP"^  -"di'"^"- 

ary .  among  the  Persians  they  appear  more  complex 

1  Frale"         '  *''  ""'  extravagant  rhymers  of 
iJ^.t  ^^^^1'"/°^"*  ^"  ^"Sland  and  Scotland  dur- 
simp  e   and   loose   construction,   and    was   concerned 
mamly  with  chivalric   combat,  beleaguered  love    or 

d  at  wm"tT:h"  '"''•  "  '"'  ^"^^-  ''  --  ^^-t^ 

ed  at  will  to  the  vampmg  of  a  harp;  contained  aa 

12 


filjgmrB  of  a  finunirr 

indefinite  number  of  stanzr.s  of  four,  six  or  eight  lines, 
alternating  usually  on  four  and  three  accents,  the  hnes 
of  three  accents  rhyming,  the  others  unrhymed,  or 
rhyming  on  themselves.  Free  use  was  made  of  asso- 
nance and  alliteration.  The  following  sUnzas  are 
quoted  to  show  the  average  form  and  structure  of 
these  old  ballads: 

Hearken  to  me,  gentlemen; 

Come   and   you  shall   hear, 
I'll  tell  of  two  of  the  boldest  brethren 

That  ever  born  y-were. 

(Ballad  of  King  Estmere,  15th  Century.) 

And  I  would  never  tire  Janet 

In  fairyland  to  dwell. 
But  aye  at  ilka  seven  years 

They  pay  the  teind  to  hell: 
And  I'm  so  fair  and  fat  o'  flesh 

I  fear  'twill  be  mysel. 

(Ballad  of  Tamlane.  16th  Century.) 

Gowden   glist   the  yellow  links 

That  round  her  neck  she'd  twine; 
Her  eyen  were  o*  the  skyie  blue. 

Her  lips  did  mock  the  wine; 
Tne  smile  upon  her  bonnie  cheek 

Was  sweeter  than  the  bee; 
Her  voice  excellt  the  birdie's  song 

Upon  the  birchen-tree. 

(Ballad  of  the  Mermaid,  18th  Century.) 

Sometimes  these  ballads  had  a  refrain  or  chorus  at 
the  end  of  each  stanza;  sometimes  a  hcy-derry-dozvn 
between  the  lines,  like  the  ^ai-falurm^-falurette  of  the 
ancient  French  songs  which  one  may  hear  in  Quebec. 
Here  is  a  refrain  intended  to  be  imitative : 

13 


I: 


ff 


Sljamra  nf  a  finunif  r 

As  I  cam  in  by  Garioch  land 

Mnd  doun  by  Netherha", 
There   were   hity  thousand  Hielandmen 
A'  marching   to   Harlaw, 

Wi'  a  drie  drie  drie  didronilie  drie. 

(The  Raid  of  Kedswire,  16th  Century.) 

A  notable  instance  of  a  form  passing  to  another 
language  is  found  in  one  of  the  old  ballads,  the  "Bat- 
tle of  Harlaw."  In  that  ballad  is  used  the  exact  stanza 
of  the  French  ballade;  the  stanza  used  by  Villon  in 
carrying  on  the  tale  of  his  Testaments.  I  quote  two 
stanzas  : 

The  armies  met,  the  trumpet  soundi, 

The  dandring  drums  aloud  did  tuck: 
Baith  armies  biding  on  the  bounds 

Till  ane  o'  them  the  field  should  brook: 

Nae  help  was  there,  for  nane  would  douk, 
Fierce  was  the  fight  on  ilka  side. 

And  on  the  ground  lay  many  a  buck 
Of  them  that  there  did  battle  bide. 

Sir  James  Scri.ngeor  of  Duddop,  knicht. 

Great  Constable  of  fair  Dundee, 
Unto  the  duleful  death  was  dicht, — 

The   King's  chief  bannerman  was  he: 

A  valiant  man  of  chevalrie. 
Whose  predecessors  won  that  place 

At  Spey,  with  gude  King  William  frie, 
'Gainst  Murray  and  Macduncan's  race. 

(Battle  of  Harlaw,  l«th  Century.) 

Such  a  form,  however,  is  too  involved  for  a  straight- 
and-away  story  such  as  the  old  minstrels  wished  to 
tell.  For  what  they  wanted  was  a  form  to  carry  or 
make  memorable  a  story,  not  a  form  to  dominate  a 

14 


fitfgmra  of  a  Saimbrr 

sentiment  or  scrap  of  philosophy  as  supplied  by  the 
Irench  ballade.  The  English  ballad  was  brought  to 
perfection  by  the  Scotch.  It  was  in  that  lost  time 
when  the  Lowlanders  of  the  Border  were  the  knight- 
lier,t  people  of  Europe.  And  that  was  before  the  time 
of  Burns;  before  the  sway  of  the  Shorter  Catechism 
and  the  smut  of  its  reaction:  a  time  when  the  true 
religion  of  the  Border  was  high  in  the  afterglow  of 
legendary  days— Gothic,  Celtic,  Arthurian,  if  you 
please — but  far  above  Geneva  and  unafraid  of  Rome. 
As  a  last  echo  of  that  time  will  you  find  in  any  other 
literature  lines  so  simply  loyal  and  lorn  as  these: 

When  day  is  gone,  and  night  is  come. 

And  a'  are  boun  to  sleep, 
I  think  on  them  that's  far  awa' 
The  lee  lang  night  and  weep,  my  dear — 

The  lee  lang  night,  and  weep! 

(Early  Jacobite.) 

M     or  of  quainter  omen  than  these : 

Yestreen  I  saw  the  new  Moon 

Wi'  the  auld  Moon  in  her  arms, 
And  I  fear.  I  fear,  my  Master  dear, 

We  shall  have  a  dreadful  storm! 

(Sir  Patric  Spens,  16th  Century.) 

The  French  ballade  is  in  nearly  all  respects  dis- 
tinct from  the  ordinary  ballad.  Its  form  is  pre- 
cise; it  has  no  story  to  tell;  its  manner  is  lyric; 
its  motive  didactic.  It  is  a  vehicle  for  the  reiteration 
of  some  sentiment  or  aphorism.    Those  who  essay  it 

IS 


;  i 

1  - 

-■ 

i 

1 

1 

in  English  have  been  content  with  the  final  "t"  of 
French   spelling,   and  consequent  accentation   of  the 
second  syllable,   to  distinguish  it  in  name  from  the 
English  ballad.     Some  other  name  might  better  have 
been  chosen  for  sake  of  distinction.     But  however  it 
be  called  a  French  ballade  may  be  made  in  English  in 
this  manner:     Take  a   single  sentiment;   beat  up  a 
tune  answering  to  a  line  of  three,  four  or  five  accents, 
but  preferably  four;  strain  the  sentiment  over  eight 
such  lines  with  a  rhyme-sequence  of  a.  b.  a,  b,  b,  c,  b,  c; 
put  the  kernel  of  your  idea,  or  the  emphatic  color  of 
your  sentiment,  into  the  last  line  as  the  burden  or  re- 
frain of  the  poem.     Then  make  two  more  such  stan- 
zas, using  the  same  rhyme-tones  in  the  same  order, 
and  keeping  the  last  line  in  each  stanza  the  same  as 
the  last  line  of  the  first  stanza.     Having  done  this, 
smoothly  finish  the  thing  off  with  a  quatrain,  call  it 
the  envoy,  address  it  by  way  of  compliment  to  your 
prince,  mistress,  creditor,  or  other  person  in  author- 
ity;  keep  the  same  rhyme-tones  for  this  quatrain  with 
the  sequ.-nce  b,  c,  b.  c,  and  the  refrain  unaltered  as  in 
the  preceding  stanzas.    This  will  be  a  ballade  of  the 
first  form. 

The  second  form  has  three  stanzas  of  ten  lines  with 
a  rhyme  sequence  of  a.  b,  a,  b,  b.  c.  c.  d,  c,  d,  and  an 
envoy  of  five  lines  rhyming  c.  c.  d,  c,  d.  Ballades  of 
the  first  form  are  allowed  three  rhymes;  those  of  the 
second  form,  four  rhymes.    And  if  your  pedantry  ex- 

16 


St^gmra  of  a  Kound^r 

ceeds  your  esthetic  sense,  and  you  would  show  your 
skill,  then  you  will  permit  the  length  of  your  refrain 
to  not  only  dominate  the  length  of  each  line,  but  if 
youi  refrain  contains  eight  syllables  you  will  adopt 
the  eight-line  stanza,  and  if  ten  syllables  then  the  ten- 
line  stanza ;  and  if  neither  eight  nor  ten  syllables,  then 
you  will  throw  it  aside  and  try  another.  The  double 
ballade,  the  ballade  of  double  refrain,  and  the  chant 
royal  are  ballades  built  rococo.  The  double  ballade 
has  six  stanzas  of  eight  or  ten  lines  with  or  without 
an  envoy.  The  ballade  of  double  refrain  has  a  sub- 
ordinate refrain  which  occurs  in  the  fourth  line  of 
each  of  the  first  three  stanzas,  and  the  second  of  the 
envoy,  with  a  rhyme  sequence  of  a,  b,  a,  b,  b,  c,  b,  c, 
and  the  envoy  rhyming  b,  b,  c,  c.  To  the  chant  royal 
I  have  already  referred  in  a  cursory  way.  The  ba- 
roque ballade  discards  the  refrain  and  envoy  alto- 
gether, and  is  of  indefinite  length.  It  is  the  eight-line 
stanza  of  the  first  form  continued  till  the  theme  is 
exhausted;  each  stanza  independent  as  to  its  own 
rhymes,  but  keeping  to  the  order  of  the  first  form: 
that  is,  a,  b,  a,  b,  b,  c,  b,  c  This  is  a  fine  virile  form, 
suited  for  descriptive,  reflective,  or  even  narrative 
verse,  as  shown  by  the  Scotch  ballad  above  quoted, 
the  "Battle  of  Harlaw."  No  doubt  the  finest  baroque 
in  English  is  Swinburne's  translation  of  Villon's 
"Complaint  of  the  Fair  Armouress."  Unfortunately, 
Swinburne  for  once  grew  prudish,  and  gave  us  Vil- 
lon's greatest  poem  disfigured  with  printer's  fig  leaves. 

17 


\f 


Sl?gmpfl  nf  a  Camber 

This  was  a  shameful  thing  ,o  do.    In  the  most  off.n- 
S.V.  way  possible  i,  tells  the  reader  that  Vi  lorha, 
wrmen  verse  unfit  to  print.     Even  if  true    it  i"  ^o 
necessary  to  blur,  it  ou,  in  th.s  fashion;  and    or  so 

h  s     sad    bad,  glad,  mad  brother's  name"  will   „" 

berused""^:  "       ""u  "r'"""^'  ■"«•"  "-'y  have 
r,,H  1  i  '  ""  ''"   °'  'he  bashful   English 

reader.     A  hand  so  deft  a^i  th,.  „r  o    ■  i.       "^"B"'" 
■iit-.i      1.  *^*  °f  Swinburne  couIH 

surely    have    touched     liscreetw    nn    ,11      ■     ',?"'"' 

^::n"r''rhe"'o'i/:w:e"t'di;7:  ^=" ""'" "« ■■-<-' 

"Squatting  above  the  straw-fire's  blaze 
The  bosom  crush'd  against  the  knee.-" 

likfoL^n'l '''''  ^'^^  "f '^  '^'^"^'^  "^^'^'^  Swinburne  l.ft 

trrt:-xnf^„'^.L-ii^-rdtr 

cannot  be  surpassed.  ^         decay- 

ladder'  Sol'V"  ''•'  "''''  °'  ^^^'"  ^  "^^^^  ---  bal- 
iades     Some  time  in  sprmg  I  broke  them  up  and  he 

l'we°tr;otm    ^^^-r^'^— his:     'l  ^J fl 
verv  diffl  u-  ^""^^^^'y  *^"°"gh.  and  found  it  no 

very  difficult  thing  to  do  after  a  few  trials.     But      re- 

18 


Slfgm^a  of  n  Vimmhtr 

the  exquisite  rendering  of  that  ballade  by  Rossetti. 
And  studying  Payne's  translations,  and  also  the  bal- 
lades   and    other    forms    in    the    aforementioned    an- 
thology,  I   dissented  from   their  mode   of  construc- 
tion to  the  extent  of  thinking  that  in  English  linked 
stanzas  of  the  Romanesque  order  should  not  be  made 
entirely  dependent  upon  preceding  stanzas  for  rhyme - 
tones.    The  rule  is  irrational;  the  result  satiety.    The 
first  stanza  of  a  ballade  in  E:  glish  will  appear  shapely 
and  sound  well  if  at  all  w.   (  done.     But  contmuance 
of  the  same  rhyme-tones  through  the  second  stanza 
will  induce  a  faded  effect,  and  the  ideas,  if  any  there 
happen  to  be,  are  apt  to  seem  trite.    As  we  enter  the 
third  stanza,  we  feel  a  sense  of  stuffiness  from  the 
same  rhyme  breathed  too  often;  and  generally  by  the 
time  we  find  ourselves  in  the  envoy  we  are  longing  to 
open  a  window  in  the  thing  and  let  in  some  fresh  air. 
In  prosody  it  is,  of  course,  well  to  insist  upon  rules, 
if  they  be  good  rules.     But  one  must  not  let  rules 
become    impertinent;   above   all   if  they   sin   against 
euphony.    This  is  true  for  all  matters  of  language,  and 
need  hardly  be  argued ;  none  but  a  grammarian  would 
hold  otherwise.    Touching  on  grammar,  by  the  way, 
brings  to  mind  that  rule  concerning  the  verb  to  be. 
Suppose  the  French,  in  forming  their  language,  had 
been  dominated  by  schoolmen  with  abnormal  respect 
for  what  they  would  call  logic,  but  with  ears  dull  to 
the  cadence  of  vowels.     Then  the  French  of  to-day, 
instead  of  rising  above  the  rule  of  the  verb  to  be  when 

19 


I 


euphony  requires,  as,  vastly  to  their  credit    th,„  a 
would  now  be  trying  to  say^'Vest  jl"  i^ea^  S^'^'  .^ 

1^  th  .    ,         ''•  ''""'"^  '^y^"^  °^«^  ^aces,  recog 
mze  that  clar.ty  and  euphony  must  be  mainta  ned  as 

wr'iLr'T;" ^^^^ ^" ^^"^"^^^-  ^- -y-" 

TraLn,  .  "^^^  *°  ^^°^"  ^«^<^«"  a  rule  o 

answer     me     to  the   query  "who's  there"-  and  I 
prefer  to  say  -that's  her"  instead  of  "that's  sh;  '' 
Acceptmg  euphony,  then,  as  a  principle  above  all 

French"C°?'HV".''"^^  ^'"  ^"  ^"^"^^  '•^"-i- 
to  b.  h/  T,  ^"'^'  ^''  *°°  "^"^^'^  d^°ne  about  it 
to  be  desirable.    It  may  sound  otherwise,  of  course  in 

go:s  we,;^"/rH^^- .  ^^^^  *^^  ^--^^  a' .v-rr^h " 

scrioZl;  "'  ''  ''  '"  '"^^P'^  P""'  unendurable  in 

senous  or  even  comic  verse.     So  to  the  French  the 

i^  ELL  me  now  in  what  hidden  way  is 
KJ      Where's  Hrn'^'H-^°^^^^^°'"^"? 

i^they'^'or:h^e^T^ter^w'o:?a'n%^^  '^  T^-. 

Only  heard   on   river  and  mere.-      ' 

But  w"erc"are"th*/  ""  "''''.'  ^^'^^  »^""^^n? 
wnere  are  the  snows  of  yester-year' 

20 


i^^^^'^^-^mT-'^Wv^-. 


Stigmra  of  a  Sauni^^r 

Where's  Heloise,  the  learned  nun. 

For  whose  sake  Abcillard,  I  wscn, 
Lost  manhood  and  put  priesthood  on? 

From  love  he  won  such  dule  and  teen  I 

And  where,  I  pray  you,  is  the  Queen 
Who  willed  that  Buridan  should  steer 

Sewed  in  a  sack's  mouth  down  the  Seine? 
But  where  are  the  snows  of  yester-year? 

White  Queen  Blanche,  like  a  queen  of  lilies, 

With  a  voice  like  any  mermaiden, — 
Bertha  Broadfoot,  Beatrice,  Alice 

And  Ermengarde,  the  lady  of  Maine, — 

And  that  good  Joan  whom  Englishmen 
At  Rouen  doom'd  and  burn'd  her  there,— 

Mother  of  God,  where  are  they  then? — 
But  whe»  ■  the  snows  of  yester-year? 

Nay,  nev.i  ask  this  week,  fair  lord. 
Where  they  are  gone,  nor  yet  this  year. 

Except  with   this  for  an   overword, — 

But  where  are  the  snows  of  yester-year? 

(The  Ballad  of  Dead  Ladies.) 


Now  compare  the  above  Rossetti  form  with  two 
other  versions  of  this  ballade  in  the  strict  French  form, 
the  first  by  John  Payne,  the  second  by  Andrew  Lang. 

I. 

^^J  ELL  me  where,  in  what  land  of  shade, 
§   'j         Bides  fair  Flora  of  Rome,  and  where 
^^^     Are  Thais  and  Archipiade, 

Cousins-german  of  beauty  rare. 

And    Echo,   more   than   mortal   fair, 
That,  when  one  calls  by  river  flow 

Or  marish,  answers  out  of  the  air? 
But  what  is  become  of  last  year's  snow? 

II. 
Where  d'.d  the  learned  Heloisa  vade. 
For  whose  sake  Abelard  might  not  spare 

21 


'l\ 


i^' 


Floating  down  s.  n,  J^"'''  l*"""'"  '" 

Broad-toot  Bertha-  ur,A   i         ^^re, 
The  eood  r  ^r  ^     ^  J°^"  '*^«  maid 

BuT^wha't'hL''h^'  Virgin;  debonair? 

What  has  become  of  last  year',  snow? 

p  .  Envoi. 

Thi!'  y°\"'^y  question  how  they  fare 
ihis  week,  or  li^f^r  ♦^.;„  ^'     ^^^ 

(Ballade  of  Old  Time  Ladies.) 

Q AY    tell  me  now  in  what  strange  air 
wlere  aTv"   ^^°^*  ^^^"^  "o  day  • 
BeautiS^l'' Thafs   haT^'af  i"'^"'   ^"^  ''h"* 
Whence  answ?rs'Shra"i/7s^;a, 

Npv   K,.l      !       ^!^^"  ^  woman  of  clav 
Nay.  but  where  is  the  last  year's  snow? 

Where  is  wise  Heloise.  that  care 
LT'"^^  poor  monk  in  ord' rs  gr.,- 

22 


Where's  that  White  Queen,  a  lily  rare. 

With  her  sweet  song,  the   Siren's  lay? 
Where's  Bertha  Broadtoot,  Beatrice  fair? 

Alys  and  Ermcngarde,  where  are  they? 

Good  Joan,  whom  English  did  oetray 
In  Rouen  town  and  burned  hr-P     No, 

Maiden  and  Queen,  no  man  may  say; 
Nay,  but  where  is  the  last  year's  snow? 

Envoi. 
Prince,  all  this  week  thou  need'st  not  pray. 

Nor  yet  this  year  the  thing  to  know: 
One   burden  answers,  ever  and  aye, 
"Nay,  but  where  is  the  last  year's' snow?" 

(Ballade  of  Dead  Ladies.) 

These  three  translations  preserve  the  same  form, 
the  same  ideas,  the  same  names,  the  same  refrain, 
Rossetti,  however,  varies  the  rhyme-tones  with  each 
stanza,  while  Payne  and  Lang  keep  strictly  to  the 
French  mode  of  three  rhyme-tones  for  the  entire  poem. 
Rossetti's  version  from  first  to  last  is  echoing  a  plain- 
tive antique  melody  in  keeping  with  the  burden  of  the 
poem;  the  withered  whisper  of  sedge-grass  by  some 
clear  pool  in  a  barren  land ;  and  in  the  distance  the  lute 
of  a  troubadour.  The  tone-value  of  the  other  two 
versions  in  comparison  is — well,  some  people  like  the 
not  unmusical  buzz  of  a  blue-bottle  fly  against  a  win- 
dow. In  a  wide  world  let  each  one  have  his  choice. 
But  to  be  quite  fair  to  Payne,  who,  according  to  those 
who  should  know,  was  a  most  exact  and  scholarly 
translator,  it  must  be  admitted  that  his  rendering  of 
Villon's  "Second  Ballade  of  Lords  of  Old  Time"  in 
the  strict  French  manner  is  a  true  poem  from  every 

23 


U. 


■  r 


Sl?gti»a  nf  a  Snunbpr 

sider  it  pre  enable         h  °'""'  "^  ""^  ^^°"^d  ^°"- 

idea,  figu  e  or  '  niiL"  ?  K  "''"  "^^  "'^'^^"^  ^°-  °f 
and  JecZ7ZZT  '  ',"'  "°'  "^*'°"*  '°^^  ^'  tone 
sacrificed    f  J  "rr^  ^'^  "'"  ^^--^  always   be 

stead  of  thl  ?  '"""^  "'"^^^  be  followed  in- 

stead of  the  tone  variation  of  Rossetti 

th Jfac°u7tythich VuiLs""'  f  ^'^"^^'  ^°"^'°^-<^  ^-^ 
linked  staL:s  at  n";  tr;  d^^B^t^r "/  ''''' 
and  control  of  them  is  a  nice  affaif '  I  !,  m'  '  ''*'°" 
difficulty  of  con^frur.     n'ce  attair.    I  would  stop  at  no 

uiiy  oi  construction  which  would  be  iii«:tJfi«^  k 
results;  but  mer^'ly  to  retain  nr    ^^  J"stifi-d  by 

tions  for  the  sake  of  .!,  ^  "''*'''^'  '■«^"^- 

receiving  suVgestioL  th'^r*'"^  ''''^'  °^  °^  ^^^^^^ 

one   wr^er.ls^rdl     :teT'a::  T"^"^^"^^^  '^ 
which  is  not  essential  tn  fT  u         ^^  ^"triction 

N..;.  co.p,r.!r„r.  ^i^*:::- ■: :;™;- 

'ng.  have  any  intrinsic  poetic  value      Mn  T 

eve.  .H,nks  an  cbjec.  „  .n..a„::' :o„^°,rsrbr.!! 

24 


ful  because  of  its  rarity  or  intricacy.  Such  a  notion  is 
excusable  only  in  collectors  of  stamps  or  insects  or 
blue  china.  A  ruby  now  is  as  beautiful  as  in  the  days 
of  Solomon,  notwithstanding  that  science  has  now 
made  it  far  more  common.  Gold  will  always  be  beauti- 
ful and  platinum  ugly  in  spite  of  the  false  taste  which 
would  countenance  the  use  of  platinum  for  jewelry  in- 
stead of  gold  on  account  of  its  rarity.  The  Sun  would 
gain  nothing  in  beauty  by  appearing  but  once  a  year. 
And  I  assert  that  altho  I  have  heard  a  man  play  tunes 
very  acceptably  on  a  fiddle,  balancing  himself  the  while 
on  a  slack  wire,  yet  his  music  had  no  added  value  by 
reason  of  the  difficult  position  maintained.  Rather  I 
appreciated  the  music  the  more  when  I  closed  my 
eyes  to  the  acrobat.  Yet  Gleeson  White,  an  accepted 
authority  in  these  matters,  actually  speaks  of  restric- 
tions as  if  they  had  value  in  themselves,  and,  referring 
to  French  ballades  in  English,  hr  says:  "They  must 
exhibit  the  art  which  conceals  art,  whether  by  intense 
care  in  every  minute  detail,  or  a  happy  faculty  for 
naturally  wearing  these  fetters.  The  dance  in  chains 
must  be  skilful,  the  chains  worn  as  decorative  ad- 
juncts, and  the  whole  with  as  much  apparent  ease  as 
the  unfettered  dancer  could  produce." 

I  am  impatient  of  any  such  conception  of  things 
poetic.  A  girl's  foot  compressed  to  an  ugly  knob  was 
once  a  conventional  Chinese  notion  of  beauty  in  the 
extreme ;  the  30-called  "golden  lily  foot,"  an  unsightly 
bulb  fit  to  be  buried,  but  surely  no  lily.    Why  be  such 

25 


1    li 


Si 


,il 


'I 


KhgmrH  0f  a  finunft 


n 

a  vaudeviJIian  as  to  ask  T*r«  •  u 

■n  Chains,  „r  Salom.  "  da^'cT!::    hoVb"  'T  '  '"""'P 
«vcr,  Gletson  White  has  .„!  ''  "■""'    "ow- 

Views.     Th.ophi„  Ga„   „7„';„'™"^  "«""«  '"'  >■■•» 
ExccJlence  of  Poetry    "ays  ""^  """"'  "Tl" 

v.:«:whir'Zyt:H:rv''™"^  -  ^-^ « «'- 

"<>.  .o  count  for  JyZ^   Tr'."^  f  '"  "'^-Itics 
that  there  are  nlentv  J'         ,  ^  am  well  aware 

ficulties  should  ^ot"^,     ,:Xl  -^o  claim  that  dif- 
art  if  it  be  not  the  meanV  f  '°""*''  ^^  what  is 

"ature  puts  in  the  way  of  cr°7'n°'"'"^  '^'  ^^^^^^^le. 
And  Andrew  LanT  ,n     "^^^^^'^^tion  of  thought." 

-^th  app.oval  ano  h;r  S  °'  ^'^  '^"^^^'  ^"-" 
as  follows:  '^"'^   ^"ter.   M.  Lemaitre. 

"The  poet  who  begins  a  bal!.^.  -i 
exactly  what  he  wii     nu.  "^"^  "°*  '^"ow  very 

"othing  but  the  rhrme  win  T  ''^  "^^^  '^^y^^'  and 
and  charming.  thineTh.  ./^^  ''^'"S^  ""expected 
.^•^t  for  her.  aH  unte'djn  .hTci;-  '  "/"^'^^^  ^^°"^^*  ^^ 
'"g.  indeed,  is  richer  il,  ""  °^  ^  ^'■^^"'-  Noth- 
of  these  difficul  p  e,  thefr^"  ^"  *'^  ^^^^  ^«- 
afield,   hunting   high   and   f  ^'"'^  *°  "^"^^^ 

th-ugh  all  th'e  world  that  Z;  T   "''^^   ^'^^   -^^^ 
---PPe.shemaJ^.;;X^-:-^ 

^e';t^^:::ii;rw'  r-  ^^^-  -  a  caterpinar  as 

-assof  verbiage'seelcTn^rprsV^r  I'l^  ^^ng  a 

&  a  passable  route  by  which  he 
26 


may  arrive  at  some  place  not  in  view  and  unguessed  of 
at  the  beginning  of  his  tour.  Hear,  rather,  what  Bau- 
delaire says: 

"A  good  author  is  already  thinking  of  his  last  line 
as  he  is  penning  his  first." 

From  a  height  one  may  overlook  the  whole  of  a 
forest  which  he  is  to  traverse  on  his  way  to  an  in- 
tended goal,  and  he  may  see  the  goal  also,  without 
seeing  the  flowers  that  will  lie  in  his  path,  or  even 
all  the  trees.  Thus  I  agree  that  seldom  can  any  poem 
worth  while  be  commenced  the  end  of  which  is  not 
already  determined  in  the  writer's  mind.  But  of  course 
"things  unexpected  and  charming,"  as  Lemaitre  says, 
may  be  met  with  on  the  tangled  way  from  the  first  to 
the  last  verse.  Nevertheless,  a  true  poem  is  conceived 
in  a  moment;  at  the  moulding  and  lining  of  it  a  man 
may  take  his  time.  And  this  must  be  as  true  of  a 
ballade  as  of  any  other  form  of  poem.  Maintaining 
this  for  the  content  of  such  a  ballade,  I  have  felt  that 
as  to  tone  the  modification  made  by  Rossetti  of  dif- 
ferent rhymes  for  different  stanzas  will  be  found  more 
harmonious  in  our  language  than  the  restricted  French 
method  of  construction,  and  with  some  natural  dif- 
fidence I  have  attempted  to  show  cause. 

The  Rossetti  form  of  ballade  consists  of  three  stan- 
2as  of  eight  lines  and  a  closing  quatrain,  each  line 
turning  on  four  accents  without  regard  to  syllables. 
Accent,  or  stress,  as  declared  by  Coleridge,  and  always 
tacitly  recognized  by  Scottish  and  English  poets,  is 

27 


I 


i 


•sj^^n 


ShympH  nf  a  Snutiipr 

s^mc  tone  in  „ch  thirH  1        ^""°"'"K  only  for  the 
Rossci  form  of  ba,  ad    ,'r     '1°"  ""  "'"'"■  "« 
hereinbefore  described      In  I    '  "l  """'"  '°™  «", 
•-^*«"  ™any  of  the  rhytf rir  "^'"''  "'  ""^ 
««n,  of  being  mere  aCnances      ^.T !  'T  '°  "■« 
«hey  have  a  rich  sweetne.»  ."^    .        '"  ""»  P""" 
'n  .he  Cosing  qua.ra^To    . "  t.T"  ""'^  '-"- 
"•ord  in  lieu  of  a  rhyme      Z  "''"''  ""  ^>n» 

"«  has  grace  by  itHerv^reM "'"''''  """^  "■  «hi' 
P''".  Speaking'genera,^  ^oThe  c  I  "'"'  ''  "™- 
o--  "voy.  I  think  it  should  „V,  .  ""« l^^rain. 
to  any  particular  person    1  T  '^"°'"  *"  addressed 

-  .h.  Climax  or  P^rTtirrf  I^/^p^  "n' :""'" 
h=  heard  as  the  closing  chord  ■  ,h  «  ?'  "*"'  '"  '« 
about  all  I  would  sav  con™     '     I    "''  "'"'■    ^hat  i, 

Most  guitar  pt^ers  a"   famT  "'"'"''" 
ish  mode  of  tuninr  hel     ■     ^         """"  '*"  °M  Span- 
for  some  fandango's  anj  soecT"'-     "  '=  '""  "«« 
"a.  a  better  .ff«t  is  had^ Lrm^d    ^^  '"  ^"■ 
longer  intervals  between  th.  „  "■"  "">^'  of 

instrument  is  still  a  gu"ar     I  /P'"  .^'""S^-    And  the 

"«  one  has  venturfd    o  varvThl",!""''"  '"  '^"'■ 

tcred  interval  and  added  rhvme        "'"'"'  ""*  al- 

-e  «h.    Italian   /.  J  r„ ,/"!:/"n '""^  ""P""- 

^nbmi,  four  such  in  th      booT  ",'"'"'  '°'"'-     ' 

"^ing  a  local  form,  five  s  an.a    o   f  "p""'  ""™»-' 

28  '''^'  hnes  linked. 


E^r^^^r^^^' 


SJ?gmf H  of  a  Sounbrr 

The  few  who  care  about  these  punctilious  forms 
may  say  that   it   is  an   impertinence   to  alter  them: 
doubtless  the  many  who  are  indifferent  to  them  will 
th.nk  we  make  much  ado  about  nothing.    For  the  gen- 
eral pubhc.  rightly  enough,  is  as  little  concerned  for 
he  tcchn.caht.es  of  verse  as  for  the  classifications  of 
he  concholog.st.     Major,   minor,  minimus,  the  chief 
trouble  w.th  poets  apart  from  being  hard  put  to  it  for 
a  l.v.ng.  ,s  that  they  take  themselves  too  seriously  a 
fa.hng  they  share  with  other  artists  and  a  few  lone 
pncsts.  reformers,  knights-errant,  and  such  like  fcU 
lows  who  follow  the  gleam.     And  yet  perhaps  it  is 
only  out  of  loyalty  to  their  ideal  that  they  trouble  to 
lay  emphasis  on  themselves  in  a  world  so  overcrowded 

Ha  istr?H''''v,'";^'""'"*'-     Addressing  said  mate- 
r  ahsts   Theoph.Ie  Gautier.  in  his  essay.  "The  Utility 

this  way :'     '"''  '"  '  ''"  '"  '''"''^'  '"'  ''^  *^'"^ 

v.rse.  Plant  potatoes,  but  do  not  pull  up  tulips.  Fat- 
ten ^geese.  but  do  not  wring  the  necks  of  nightingales. 
.riv  ,,  /  u  ?'^  *^^*  happiness  consists  in  prop- 
th  nW  H     M        r?'"''^   '"^   ^°""^   '^^^'oral  laws.      I 

enough.     Every   select  organization   must   have   art 
must  have  beauty,  must  have  form." 

And  in  his  other  essay,  "The  Excellence  of  Poetry  " 
from  wh.ch  I  have  already  quoted,  he  says : 

Poets  are  fit  to  do  other  things  beside  rhyming  in 

29 


■J 

u 


Ilk 
if* 


verse,  although  I  fail  to  sec  what  better  a  man  can  do 
than  write  good  verse." 

That  to  me  sounds  right  and  reasonable  enough. 
But  on  the  other  hand  a  scientific  old  triend  of  mine 
fcehng  called   upon  to  speak  encouragingly  of  some 
verse  I  had  written,  said  to  me  recently :   "By  George 
sir.  It's  fine;  I  understood  every  bit  of  it;  it's  just  as 
good-    nroser    He  honestly  intended  that  for  a  com- 
plime         nd  I  suppose  it  was— of  a  sort.     But  I  know 
tha'     :e  would  not  value  a  cathedral  or  mosque  solely 
lor.,,     ,a.    »g  capacity  or  acoustic  properties;  he  has 
the  h.giier  sense  of  architecture.    I  know  that  he  would 
not  th,nk  to  pra-.e  a  painter  by  telling  him  that  his 
work  was  as  good  as  a  photograph ;  and  I  am  sure  that 
observmg   a   rock  crystal    and   an   ordinary   lump   of 
quartz   he   would   appreciate   the   intrinsic   beauty   of 
form  apart  from  substance.    But  to  any  effect  in  poetic 
form  apart  from  literal  meaning  he  would  appear  im- 
perceptivc  as  a  clam ;  built  that  way,  perhaps,  or  like 
enough  a  result  of  being  pestered  in  youth  with  met- 
rical versions  of  the  Psalms,  or  of  being  made  to  mem- 
orize verse  by  the  yard  when  he  should  have  been  at 
P lay.    And  all  the  while  there  is  so  much  verse  and  so 
little  poetry.     This  because  the  form  is  symbolic,  and 
the  content  is  seldom  worthy  of  the  form.     Here  is  a 
test:    If  what  has  been  expressed  in  verse  would  lose 
virtue  m  prose_if  it  cannot  be  given  such  effective 
utterance  m  prose-then  such  verse  is  poetry     Othe- 
wise.  It  IS  only  something  which  may  be  as  good  as 

30 


i    ; 


prose,  but  which  usually  is  not.     Yet  I  will  have  no 
quarrel  with  those  who  cannot  perceive  the  symbolic 
value   of  form   in  verse;  nor  for  that  matter   will   I 
quarrel  with  any  of  my  few  good  friends  to  whom 
these  roundabout  rhymes  which  I  have  written  are 
mere  eccentricities  to  be  quietly  ignored  on  account 
of  more  understandable  doings  with  which  they  credit 
me.     After  all,  we  had  as  well  be  frank  about  it,  and 
not  pretend  to  enjoy  any  phase  of  art  through  which 
the  light  does  not  come  to  us.    In  art,  as  in  the  other 
practices  designed  to  relieve  human  hunger  or  pain— 
cookery,   religion,  medicine— we   had  best   be  guided 
simply  by  the  effect  upon  our  own  selves.     Holding 
fast  to  principles  I  would  move  loosely  arriong  rules 
whenever   any  question  of  beauty   is   involved.     For 
beauty  is  something  too  divine  for  definition ;  it  will 
tolerate  no  limitation  or  criterion ;  it  is  the  one  thing 
supreme  above  all  that  we  conceive  as  truth,  utility  or 
morality;  and  wherever  and  however  perceived,  it  is 
not  the  mode  of  perceiving  that  should  engross  us  but 
the  fat;  the  fact  that  we  are  privileged  above  other 
animals,  some  of  us,  to  become  aware  of  beauty  in  any 
degree  at  all  is  to  me  the  most  heartening  and  hopeful 
thing  in  life. 

r,o  o  ,  "^OM  McINNES. 

uttaz^a,  September,  1912. 


!•; 


31 


af?gmra  nf  a  ^amxbn 
Ballade  of  Youth  Remaininfi- 

ARDON  if  I  ravel  rhyme  ^ 

Out  of  my  head  disorderly! 
Forgetting  how  the  rats  of  time 
Are  nib'oling  at  the  bones  of  me! 
±Jut  while  upon  my  legs  I'm  free 
Out  m  the  sunlight  I  intend 

To  dine  with  God  prodigiously 
Youth  is  a  splendid  thing  to  spend! 
Here's  to  the  man  who  travels  still 
In  the  light  of  young  discoveries! 
Here's  to  the  fellow  of  lusty  will. 
Who  drives  along  and  hardly  sees 
For  glamour  of  great  realities 
The  doom  of  age !    This  line  I  send 

To  all  who  sing  hot  litanies: 
Youth  is  a  splendid  thing  to  spend! 
But  'tis  not  all  a  matter  of  years: 

'Tis  a  way  of  living  handily 
In  a  game  with  Life,  while  yet  appears 
A  glory  near  of  victory ; 
With  ventures  high,  and  gallantry 
Twmkhrg    round  the  nearest  bend 

Where  damsels  and  fine  dangers  be: 
Youth  IS  a  splendid  thing  to  spend! 
Fellows,  come  and  ride  with  me 

Swiftly  now  to  the  edge  of  the  end. 
Holdmg  the  Stars  of  Joy  in  fee  !— 
Youth  is  a  splendid  thing  to  spend' 
32 


fit^gm^B  of  a  fiotutbrr 
Ballade  of  the  Free  Lance 

ET  me  face  some  bright  hazard 

Against  the  rowdy  World  for  you! 
A  foe  to  strike,  a  friend  to  guard. 
Or  the  looting  of  some  rascal  crew. 

Oh,  the  like  of  this  I'm  taking  to 
As  on  my  way  I  make  advance, 

And  queer  vicissitudes  come  through. 
Full  of  adventure  and  multiple  chance ! 
So  far,  you  see,  I've  not  been  slain, 

Tho'  now  and  then  I've  sought  to  raid 
Some  richly  opportune  domain. 

Only  to  find  the  plan  I  made 

BafHed  by  engine  or  ambuscade; 
But  I  salute  the  circumstance. 

And  slip  aside ;  oh,  the  World  is  laid 
Full  of  adventure  and  multiple  chance ! 
And  while  I'm  free  to  ride  ahead. 

With  here  or  there  some  prize  in  view, 
Few  dangers  of  the  way  I  dread, 

Tho'  oft  my  hungriness  I  rue : 

Still,  betimes  a  crust  will  do 
Cracking  fine  to  nonchalance, 

And  every  day  the  World  is  new, 
Full  of  adventure  and  multiple  chancel 
For  me  the  road  of  many  directions — 

For  me  the  rhyme  of  long  romance! 
For  me  the  World  of  imperfections — 

Full  of  adventure  and  multiple  chance ! 
33 


i 
i 

i: 
K 


Klfgm^B  of  a  iSnmtiFr 
Ballade  of  Action 

O  fat  security  hath  charms 

To  keep  me  always  satisfied: 
What  ho!  Excursions  and  alarms! 
A  scheme,  a  plot,  a  ripping  tide 
Of  rude  events  to  prick  my  pride, 
Or  crack  the  shell  of  my  conceit 

Upon  the  edge  of  things  untried! 
This  is  the  fate  that  I  would  meet 
Now  let  some  bully  thing  intrude. 
And  bugle  to  the  soul  of  me!  ' 
I  grow  stale  with  quietude, 
And  this  too  safe  monotony: 
O  good  my  friend  or  enemy 
Call  me  back  to  the  battling  street! 

For  high  low  variety 

This  is  the  fate  that  !  would  meet. 
To  more  than  keep  oneself  alive 

Is  the  way  to  live  when  all  is  said: 
To  sight  a  prize,  and  chase  and  strive 
With  strong  will  and  cunning  head 
For  something  surely  more  than  bread. 
Or  from  the  bitter  steal  the  sweet. 

And  steal  it  while  the  risk  is  redl- 
This  IS  the  fate  that  I  would  meet 
To  conquer  finely,  or  to  sink 

Debonair  against  defeat, 
This  is  the  rarest  grace  I  think— 
This  is  the  fate  that  I  would  meet 
34 


Ballade  of  Detachment 

HE  Lords  of  Karma  deal  the  cards, 

But  the  game  we  play  in  our  own  way: 
Now  as  for  me,  and  as  regards 
The  gain  or  loss  from  day  to  day, 
I  go  detach'd ;  I  mean  to  say 
That  I  live  largely  as  I  please. 

Whether  it  does  or  does  not  pay 
Among  the  inequalities. 

With  duties  not  too  much  engross'd. 
With  profits  not  too  much  concern'd, 

Not  to  glean  to  the  uttermost, 
Nor  grieve  for  what  I  might  have  earn'd. 
This  for  my  soul's  sake  I  have  learn'd, 

Reaching  for  sweeter  things  than  these: 
Pennies  and  fractions  I  have  spurn'd 

Among  the  inequalities. 

Oh    damnable  palavering 

Of  pedagogues  too  regular! 
I'd  rather  be  a  tramp,  or  sing 

For  my  living  at  a  bar. 

Or  peddle  peanuts,  far  by  far, 
Than  lose  my  reasonable  ease 

In  tow  of  rule  and  calendar 
Among  the  inequalities. 

Content  if  I  may  go  a  bit 

In  my  own  way  before  I  cease ; 
Living  trimly  by  my  wit 

Among  the  inequalities. 

35 


I,; 


n 


Ballade  on  the  Way 

ET  saints  abstract  on  subtle  planes 

Revolving  occult  theories. 
Unravel  all  till  naught  remains. 
And  vanish  then  howe'er  they  please! 
But  as  for  me,  in  place  of  these. 
The  savor  of  flesh  and  blood!    The  zest 

And  blaze  of  vast  idolatries! 
This  is  the  object  of  my  quest. 
Let  saints  who  stoop  to  lift  the  woe 
From  off  the  living  and  the  dead, 
On  with  their  heavy  labors  go 
T:'-  all  be  heal'd  and  comforted! 
But  as  for  me.  I  seek  instead 
Assurance  to  the  sparkling  crest 

Of  ecstasies  unmerited ! 
This  is  the  object  of  my  quest. 
Beauty  to  me  hath  been  a  name 
Holier  than  all  God's  avatars  : 
The  unconcern'd  eternal  Flame 
Whose  fitful  gleams  between  the  bars 
Of  space  and  time  unto  the  stars 
And  outer  vacancies  attest 

Elysium  that  nothing  mars! 
This  is  the  object  of  my  quest. 
Oh  let  me  for  a  moment  merge 

Within  the  glory  vaguely  guess'd! 
Yea.  tho'  I  perish  on  the  verge ! 
This  is  the  object  of  my  quest. 
36 


0) 


?Rljgm^jE:  of  a  finmtb^r 
Ballade  of  Good  Women 

OMEN  I  value  as  they  serve 

Us  men  with  all  their  qualities : 
The  kindly  eye,  the  winsome  jurve, 
And  voice  atune  for  melodies, 

Oh,  high  we  hold  the  worth  of  these! 
But  this  is  the  best  a  man  can  say 

Of  factory  girls  or  fine  ladies : 
Good  women  give  themselves  away. 
So  have  our  comforts  much  increas'd. 

Despite  the  neuter  maids  who  cling 
To  fad  or  fancy,  book  or  priest, 

Perversely  'gainst  their  fashioning: 

Lord,  in  the  end  'tis  a  sickly  thing, 
Still  order  it  for  us  I  pray 

That  mainly  without  reckoning 
Good  women  give  themselves  away. 
Let  sing  who  will  in  praise  of  her 

By  some  unique  ambition  led, 
Queen  at  college  or  theatre, 

Or  class'd  in  a  convent  with  the  dead! 

I  honor  the  girls  who  choose  instead 
The  ancient  duties,  day  by  day. 

As  wives  and  mothers  and  makers  of  bread : 
Good  women  give  themselves  away. 

Little  I  care  what  they  be  doing, 
What  creed  they  follow  or  disobey, 

If  evermore  for  our  renewing 
Good  women  give  themselves  away. 


^i 


.  i 


-^7 


® 


«l?gm^B  0f  a  IBiambn 
Ballade  of  Virtues 

E  make  too  much  of  right  and  wrong: 

Three  virtues  sum  it  all,  nor  less 
Nor  more,  and  we  who  crawl  along 

Py  light  of  them  our  way  may  guess 
Out  of  the  world's  ungodly  mess. 
Whether  we  look  to  the  cross,  or  whether 

To  idols  of  genial  heathenness: 
We  who  are  all  in  the  mud  together. 
Courage,  cleanliness,  charity: 

There  are  no  virtues  fixt  but  these : 
On  these,  the  sole  essemal  three. 
We  base  our  rising  tendencies, ' 
And  various  moralities 
To  suit  our  age,  or  maybe  the  weather 

Or  stress  of  chance  necessities  • 
We  who  are  all  in  the  mud  together. 
Many  to  ancient  names,  and  some 

To  newer  creeds  and  altars  cling: 
But  shming  down  the  ages  come 
Three  virtues,  never  altering. 
By  which  alone  our  souls  we' bring 
Out  of  the  primal  ooze  and  nether 

Gulfs  whence  we  are  clambering: 
We  who  are  all  in  the  mud  together. 
Courage,  cleanliness,  charity: 

Hold  by  these  to  the  end  of  the  tether 
I'or  only  these  may  lead  us  free  • 
We  who  are  all  in  the  mud  together 
38 


SljgmpB  nf  a  Sounbrr 
Ballade  of  Meddlers 

PLAGUE  on  those  who  would  regulate 

Every  detail  of  our  troubled  lives! 
Let's  eat  and  drink  and  fight  a  id  mate 
And  leave  to  God  what  then  survives! 

Thus  every  man  for  himself  contrives 
His  inexact  best  quality: 

Ministers,  medicals,  meddlesome  wives, 
Go  your  way  and  let  folks  be! 
O  anxious  saviours  of  men  and  such 

Thanks  for  your  help  in  our  evil  plight! 
But  please  don't  save  us  all  too  much! 

When  God  woke  up  and  call'd  for  light 

He  set  things  turning  from  left  to  right, 
A  good  enough  sign  it  seems  to  me 

That  we  shall  turn  thus  without  you— quite : 
Go  your  way  and  let  folks  be ! 
For  man  and  beast  and  imp  and  elf 

One  rule  is  writ  in  language  terse: 
Each  must  answer  to  himself 

In  the  sequence  of  the  universe: 

And  we  may  crawl  from  the  primal  curse 
Fast  if  we  choose,  or  leisurely. 

But  meddlers  aye  make  matters  worse : 
Go  your  way  and  let  folks  be! 
Maybe  a  helping  hand  is  the  best 

Signal  from  God  that  ever  we  see : 
But  that's  one  thing,  and  for  the  rest, 

Go  your  way  and  lei  folks  be ! 

35 


I  j 


^ 

4 

in 

!  -:     > 

i  -    .; 

1 

X 


Ballade  of  Friends 

CHANGE  myself,  and  so  no  more 

Will  cry  against  inconstancy 
The  chiefest  pals  I  had  of  yore 

Without  offence  may  tire  of  me: 
And  they  are  free,  and  I  am  free. 
To  seek  new  faces  down  the  line- 
But  yet  I  say  wherever  I  be  • 
.   All  good  fellows  are  friends  of  mine! 

No  talk  of  race  or  caste  or  creed- 
No  fault  of  hair,  no  shade  of  skin. 

Shall  bar  me  of  my  choice,  indeed 
The  sweetest  nut  may  lie  within 
The  toughtest  shell;  'twould  be  a  sin 

i  o  lose  a  comrade,  or  resign 

My  company  for  cause  so  thin: 

All  good  fellows  are  friends  of  mine! 

They  faal  us  now  and  then,  of  course; 
And  some  are  rascals  more  or  less: 

i>ome  cajole  us  to  endorse. 
And  leave  us  in  the  lurch:  oh,  yes- 
But  to  relieve  our  loneliness 

"  O'lJy  for  a  day  is  fine : 

All  good  fellows  are  friends  of  mine' 
Whether  at  sea  or  whether  on  shore, 

Ur  at  the  job  or  over  the  wine ; 
Whether  on  two  legs,  whether  on  four- 
All  good  fellows  arc  friends  of  min-. 
40 


H 


Lady  of  Ventures 

Mirelie. 
?  ADY  of  Ventures  weaving  gold 

From  next  to  nothing  tell  me,  pray. 
Some  novel  thing  to  do!    Unfold 
Some  fine  employ  or  project  bold 
Or  sly  detour  along  my  way! 

From  London  town  to  far  Cathay 
The  many  live  in  drab  durance : 
But  evermore  your  colors  play, 
Lady  of  Ventures,  grave  or  gay, 
Over  the  regions  of  Romance. 

And  some  who  find  you  sideways  glance, 
Nor  scorn  to  reach  thro'  gates  obscure 
Forbidden  vistas  that  entrance, 
And  glimmer  with  caprice  and  chance 
To  alter  destinies  grown  dour. 

Whether  to  some  moonlit  amour, 

Or  quest  of  hidden  treasury. 
Or  valiant  or  outlandish  lure, 
They  follow  you,  and  think  for  sure 
'Tis  worth  whatever  the  cost  may  be. 

Thro'  drear  lanes  of  poverty. 

Thro'  little  shops,  and  garrets  old, 
I've  seen  you  wander  truantly, 
And  pass  tiptoe  and  beckon  me, — 
O  Lady  of  Ventures  weaving  gold! 
41 


I 


;     ) 


:r 


Sljgmra  nf  a  Ununarr 
Ballade  of  Jacqueline 

MET  by  chance  a  milliner, 

A  girl  by  name  of  Jacqueline: 
June-sweet  was  the  voice  of  her. 
And  wonderful  eyes  of  aquamarine, 
Pale  blue  and  pale  green. 
AppealJ  from  her  face  of  ivory. 

Too  wild  to  care  how  she  were  seen 
Down  town  o'  nights  with  me. 
In  a  fussy  shop  thro"  daylight  hours 

Trimly  she  fashion'd  vanities: 
Scraps  of  birds,  and  cra.y  flowers. 
Trifles  of  straw  and  fripperies. 
To  put  on  the  heads  of  fine  ladies: 
But  after  six.  when  she  was  free, 
Jacqueline  went  as  you  please' 
Down  town  o'  nights  with  me. 
Jacqueline  was  a  good  chum 

For  gay  streets  and  vaudeville; 
And  I  spent  my  coin,  when  I  had  some, 
For  the  nleasure  it  was  to  see  her  feel 
The  light  dream  of  the  moment  real, 
Or  hearken  awhile  to  her  velvety 

Low  laughter  over  a  meal 
Down  town  o'  nights  with  me. 
Jacqueline  has  gone  away 

To  marry  a  man  of  property; 
Jacqueline  no  more  will  play 
Down  town  o'  nights  with  me. 
42 


SljgmPB  of  a  S0Uttbpr 
Ballade  of  the  Picaroon 

KNEW  him  for  a  picaroon 

Among  the  purhcus  of  the  town: 
At  free  lunch  in  a  beer  saloon 

To  wash  the  cheese  and  pickles  down, 
With  pretzels  hard  and  salt  and  brown. 
We  drank  and  talk'd  of  all  our  schemes 
To  banish  Fortune's  chronic  frown : 
He  was  a  fine  fellow  of  dreams. 
He  loved  the  light  piquant  details 
Of  life  beyond  mere  livelihood ; 
And  while  he  cover'd  many  trails 

More  tricks  he  play'd  and  girls  he  woo'd 
And  bottles  emptied  than  he  should 
For  that  success  the  World  esteems : 
But  after  a  fashion  he  made  good : 
He  was  a  fine  fellow  of  dreams. 
Because  I  heard  his  death  to-night 

Told  in  the  hotel  corridor 
I  left  the  crowd  for  the  cool  starlight 
And  the  lone  ways :  my  heart  was  sore 
That  I  should  see  his  face  no  more 
Where  the  wheel  turns,  and  the  light  gleams. 

And  the  air  reels  to  the  World's  uproar: 
He  was  a  fine  fellow  of  dreams. 
My  friend  he  was  and  he  died  too  soon : 

'Tis  always  too  soon  for  his  like  it  seems : 
But  he  lived  while  he  lived,  that  picaroon — 
He  was  a  fine  fellow  of  dreams. 

43 


I 


:.i 


1 


atigm^fi  nf  a  ffinun&rr 
Villanelle  of  Mutton 


V 


Old  Style. 

ERY  sick  and  tired  I  am 

Of  stewed  prunes,  and  apples  dried, 
And  this  our  mutton  that  once  was  lamb! 


I  will  make  no  grand  salaam 

For  the  stale  cakes  the  gods  provide! 
Very  sick  and  tired  I  am! 

My  indignant  diaphragm 

Would  cover  something  fresh,  untried, — 
Not  this  mutton  that  once  was  lamb! 

How  every  verse  and  epigram 

Of  hope  the  lagging  years  deride! 
Very  sick  and  tired  I  am! 

Must  I  always  then  be  calm, 

And  talk  as  one  quite  satisfied 
With  this  our  mutton  that  once  was  lamb? 

Frankly,  I  don't  give  a  dam 

For  taste  of  things  too  long  denied! 
Very  sick  and  tired  I  am 
Of  this  our  mutton  that  once  was  lamb! 

44 


Mirelle  of  Found  Money 

.,     -  GOT  a  thousand  dollars  to-day 
J  By  chance  and  undeservedly: 

jL        But  nary  a  one  of  my  debts  will  I  pay : 
'"^  Sure  it  never  was  meant  to  be  spent  that 

way: 
'Tis  a  gift  from  my  fairy  godmother,  you 

see. 

Except  of  course  to  my  landlady, 
And  some  on  account  to  the  tailor  Malone : 

And  there'll  be  a  new  dress,  and  a  hat  maybe. 

For  the  lame  girl  who  is  good  to  me : 
But  the  rest  of  these  dollars  are  all  my  own. 

A  thousand  dollars  and  all  for  my  own : 

The  thought  of  it  runs  like  a  tune  through  my  head: 
So  long  it  is  since  I  have  known 
One  lavish  hour,  one  fully  blown 

Rose  of  joy  unheralded! 
Tho'  we  of  the  world  must  grind  for  bread 

'Tis  a  plan  I  hold  in  small  esteem : 
And  while  I  can  taste  I  let  no  dread 
Of  later  want  contract  the  spread 

Of  my  desire  for  cakes  and  cream. 

Wrapt  in  myself,  obscure,  supreme, 

I  slip  thro'  streets  and  quarters  gay, 
And  the  comic  crowd  I  see  in  a  dream. 
But  glory  be — this  is  no  dream : 

I  got  a  thousand  dollars  to-day ! 

45 


•* 


in 


I 


■■i 


J 


n 


Sbgm^B  of  a  Snunier 
Ballade  of  Fine  Eating 


IGH  up  I  climb'd  in  a  cherry  tree 
Heigho,  how  the  years  have  fled ! 


June  and  the  World  lay  under  me, 
While  the  juicy  fruit  just  overh? id 
Hung  clustering  thick  and  ripe  and  red,— 
For  a  boy  of  ten  'twas  a  glorious  sight: 
Say,  do  you  wonder  now  that  I  said : 
Bully  for  my  big  appetite ! 

Far  in  the  North  I  sought  for  gold : 

Foolish  I  was  and  most  unfit: 
Starving,  alone,  and  numb  with  cold, 

When  I  found  on  the  trail  a  dog-biscuit: 

How  I  gnaw'd  its  edges  bit  by  bit! 
'Twas  a  savory  thing  to  crunch  and  bite, 

And  I  fed  on  every  crumb  of  it: 
Bully  for  my  big  appetite! 

But  give  me  a  friend  this  night  for  a  feast, 

And  one  well-served  exquisite  dish ! 
He  may  have  what  he  will  of  bird  or  beast. 

Or  take  his  choice  of  fat  sea-fish ; 

And  we'll  drink  of  the  best  thing  liquorish. 
Bottled  in  years  of  old  delight, 

To  wake  on  our  palate  the  lost  relish: 
Bully  for  my  big  appetite! 
Me  for  a  nook  in  a  fine  kafay, 

With  any  potvaliant  rake  to-night ! 
And  if  to-morrow  the  Devil's  to  pay — 

Bully  for  my  big  appetite! 

46 


Mirelle  of  the  Good  Bed 


V  #>. 


(J 


HERE'S  nothing  so  good  as  a  good  bed 
When  a  body  is  over  and  done  with  day! 
I'd  like  a  place  to  lay  my  head 
In  a  clean  room  unfrequented 
And  dark,  unless  for  a  moon-ray. 


O  Angel  of  Dreams,  without  delay 

Then  let  me  from  this  World  be  gone ! 
Within  a  temple  I  would  pray 
Where  golden  odors  float  alway 
Onward  to  oblivion. 

Or  haply  may  I  be  withdrawn 
From  pain  and  care  and  manners  mean 

Into  some  fairy  tower  whereon 

The  glim  bejewell'd  gonfalon 
Of  blue  enchantery  is  seen? 

But  a  lady  I  know  might  come  between 

Laughing,  and  lead  me  far  astray 
On  the  flowery  edge  of  a  wild  ravine 
Where  wild  cascades  of  waters  green 
Flash  in  the  pleasant  light  of  May. 

Thus  let  me  dream  the  night  away. 
Or  slumber  dreamless  with  the  dead ! 

Life  may  resume,  but  now  I  say. 

Being  too  weary  of  the  day, 
There's  nothing  so  good  as  a  good  bed! 

47 


I 


M 


i 


Ballade  of  the  House  of  Ease 


jQ 


'  ELLO,  MARIE!    You  sweet  old  girl, 
You  of  the  Province  cool  and  true, 
I'm  fagg'd  and  done  with  the  City  whirl. 
And  I've  come  for  quieting  to  you! 

I'm  out  of  the  game,  Marie ;  I'm  through. 
And  want  but  a  chair  in  the  sunlight  placed. 

With  nothing  to  do,  dear,  nothing  to  do— 
Give  me  now  these  hours  to  waste! 
Something  to  eat?    WeH,  after  while 

I'd  like  a  chicken  fricassee 
Cream'd  in  good  Acadian  style 

With  ketchup  and  things  peppery. 

And  a  twist  of  bread  and  pot  o'  tea: 
A  supper  that  to  the  Queen's  taste 

If  you  will  cook  it!     But,  Marie. 
Give  me  now  these  hours  to  waste ! 
My  Lady  in  your  House  of  Ease, 

Clean  of  all  pretence  and  mask. 
Let  me  lounge  just  as  I  please. 

Tossing  from  me  every  task! 

Let  me  like  some  lizard  bask 
Fatly  with  my  soul  effaced 

In  the  sun !    No  more  I  ask— 
Give  me  now  these  hours  to  waste! 
For  I've  been  troubled  overlong. 

And  I'd  be  quit  of  stress  and  haste, 
And  quit  of  doing,  right  or  wrong, — 

Give  me  now  these  hours  to  waste ! 

48 


Ballade  of  Golden  Days 

WEARY  of  living  from  hand  to  mouth. 

Battling  for  mean  necessities: 
I'm  in  a  desert,  and  a  drouth 
Comes  over  all  the  oases 
Where  I  have  sought  myself  to  ease 
In  lawful  and  unlawful  ways : 

I  had  no  care  for  things  like  these 
Far  away  in  the  Golden  Days. 
Let  me  go  where  my  fathe    went — 
My  father  who  was  good  to  me! 
This  World  has  grown  so  virulent 
And  sodden  now  with  misery! 
But  once  we  fought  it  joyously. 
Ever  on  some  crusade  ablaze 

For  spicy  isles  o'  the  wind-swept  sea- 
Far  away  in  the  Golden  Days. 

Oh  with  some  glad  intoxicant 
These  wasted  nerves  of  mine  relieve ! 

Do  me  a  magic,  and  enchant 
These  sordid  chambers  to  conceive 
In  crimson  colors,  while  I  weave 

My  fancies  to  the  airy  phase 

Of  things  he  taught  me  to  believe — 

Far  away  in  the  Golden  Days. 

Nay,  what  now?    What  aura  strange — 
What  glamour  of  new  life  allays 

This  old  despair?    Again  I  range 
Far  away  in  the  Golden  Days. 
49 


I     ^i,. 


-1? 


r5; 


m 


Sl?gmrB  nf  a  IBiamhn 
Defeat 

Villanelle. 

E  may  dream  of  what  hath  been, 
But  this  will  alter  all  our  ways: 
This  is  the  thing  that  was  not  foreseen. 


Tho*  we  avoid  the  rabble  gaze 

Yet  must  we  keep  some  face  to  show: 
We  are  untouch'd,  the  World  says. 

Haply  the  World  may  never  know 

The  marish  grief  and  bitterness 
That  covers  us ;  'tis  better  so. 

For  we  who  gloried  to  excess 

Now  only  ask  that  none  may  see 
These  hours  averted,  comfortless. 

Of  our  defeat  there  yet  may  be 

Some  gray  reward  in  after  days : 
Oh  ache  my  heart— but  quietly! 

While  the  shadow  with  us  stays 
We  may  dream  of  what  hath  been; 

But  this  will  alter  all  our  ways— 
This  is  the  thing  that  was  not  foreseen. 
SO 


6 


Ballade  of  Evil 

I'VIL!     What  poor  argument 

We  mortals  hear  to  make  us  trust 
That  as  for  God  he  never  meant 
To  bait  this  hook  of  pain  with  lust! 
Then  by  what  devil  was  it  thrust 
Thro'  the  filmy  first  upheaval 

Of  our  planetary  dust? 
No  man  knoweth  the  end  of  evil. 
By  dint  of  wishing,  sages  say, 

Things  shape  themselves  much  as  we  see; 
And  filth  and  pain  are  the  price  we  pay 
Largely  for  the  will  to  be ; 
That  we  evolve  contingently 
On  such  acceptance  and  receival  : 

Is  this  the  measure  of  God's  meicy? 
No  man  knoweth  the  end  of  evil. 

Say  if  you  choose  there  is  naught  but  good: 
Harden  your  heart  and  soften  your  brain : 

Say  wrong  is  right  misunderstood : 
Close  your  eyes  to  filth  and  pain: 
Swear  all  is  right  and  all  is  sane, 

And  all  correct  from  days  primeval: 
And  then — well,  then  what  will  you  gain? 
No  man  knoweth  the  end  of  evil. 

We  strive  in  mud  forever  obscure. 
Forever  in  hope  of  some  reprieval. 

But  living  or  dead  we  are  not  sure: 

No  man  knoweth  the  end  of  evil. 

SX 


i 


lUfgnwH  of  a  Rounht r 
Ballade  of  Woeful  Certainties 

E  must  kill  if  wc  would  live: 
...        '^'^'s  is  the  first  of  certainties : 
VJL-^    ^o<^  leaves  us  no  alternative 

Despite  the  preachers'  sophistries : 
Let  them  argue  as  they  please 
The  jungle  law  is  over  us! 

For  any  man  who  cares  or  :,ees 
This  World  of  ours  goes  ruinous. 
We  must  weak  and  ugly  grow : 

This  is  the  worst  of  certainties : 
'Tis  a  pretty  thing  to  be  young,  I  know, 
And  life  is  full  of  pleasantries : 
But  age  and  pain  will  bend  the  knees 
Of  the  strongest,  fairest,  best  of  us : 

No  bodies  reach  beyond  disease : 
This  World  of  ours  goes  ruinous. 
We  must  all  in  the  graveyard  lie: 

This  is  the  last  of  certainties: 
Strange  horizons  some  descry. 
That  to  the  mass  are  fantasies: 
But  take  your  choice  of  theories 
To  meet  an  end  so  villainous, 

In  this  at  least  each  one  agrees: 
This  V/orld  of  ours  goes  ruinous. 
Brother,  I  see  too  much  to  think 

That  dust  is  the  utter  end  of  us: 
But  oft  from  what's  involved  I  shrink: 
This  World  of  ours  goes  ruinous. 
52 


Tiger  of  Desire 

Villanelle. 

TARVING,  savage,  I  aspire 

To  the  red  meat  of  all  the  World : 
I  am  the  Tiger  of  Desire! 

With  teeth  bared,  and  claws  uncurl'd, 

By  leave  o'  God  I  creep  to  slay 
The  innocent  of  all  the  World. 

Out  of  the  yellow  glaring  day, 

When  I  glut  my  appetite, 
To  my  lair  I  slink  away. 

But  in  the  black  returning  night 

I  leap  resistless  on  my  prey. 
Mad  with  agony  and  fright. 

The  quick  flesh  I  tear  away. 

Writhing  till  the  blood  is  hurl'd 
On  leaf  and  flower  and  sodden  clay. 

My  teeth  are  bared,  my  claws  uncurl'd. 
Of  the  red  meat  I  never  tire ; 

In  the  black  jungle  of  the  World 
I  am  the  Tiger  of  Desire ! 
53 


aiigmrH  of  a  fiflunirr 
Ballade  of  the  Body  Diseased 

^.  O  think  the  sky  should  be  so  blue, 

And  the  air  still  yield  its  clean  caress! 
That  I  should  see  these  flowers  that  strew 
The  altar  of  God's  loveliness 
And  cease  adoring  now!   Ah  yes, 
But  something  foul   within  me  squirrr^. 

A  trail  of  bloody  rottenness ! 
I  will  not  live  upon  these  terms. 
Must  I  who  had  of  youth  and  bliss 

In  fullest  measure  be  content 
Merely  to  live  in  mire  like  this? 
Shall  my  remaining  days  be  spent 
And  my  loved  body  now  be  lent 
As  stuff  that  alters  or  confirms 

Some  medical  experiment? 
I  will  not  live  upon  these  terms. 

I  shall  end  it  when  I  choose 

If  it  can  end  so  easily! 
Dripping  Upas  avenues 

Before  me  loom  unhappily: 

Things  magnified  too  monstrously 
From  infinite  mephitic  germs 

Are  loosed  on  me  indecently: 
I  will  not  live  upon  these  terms. 
O  stricken  body,  now  for  you 

Decay,  and  the  silent  work  of  worms! 
To  think  the  sky  should  be  so  blue! 

I  will  not  live  upon  these  terms. 
54 


Elysium 

Villanelle. 

OTHER,  for  a  moment  come 
To  the  bars  that  intervene : 
Tell  me  of  Elysium! 


Tell  me  how  you  live  serene 

Upon  that  fair  and  lovely  shore : 
Free  of  grief  and  burdens  mean! 

For  I  so  broken  am  and  sore 

To  me  God's  mercy  now  'twould  seem 
To  die  indeed  and  be  no  more. 


' 


i 


You  are  with  the  Seraphim, 
While  below  I  wander  on. 
Groping  through  a  fearful  dream. 

My  love  of  life  at  last  is  gone: 

Of  life  what  favor  may  I  glean 
Outvaluing  oblivion? 

Here  for  dim  relief  I  lean : 
O  Mother,  for  a  moment  come 

To  the  bars  that  intervene ! 
Unveil,  unveil  Elysium! 

55 


•  'I 

m 


i 


•■1 

w 

I 

I"' 

rv: 


Ballade  of  the  Self  Concealed 


O' 


HIS  of  you  is  not  the  best, 

This  little  self  so  anxious  here; 
Partially  you  manifest, 
But  you  are  other  than  the  mere 
Mind  and  body  you  appear: 
Behind  the  scenes  it  seems  to  me, 

From  day  to  day  and  year  to  year, 
You  remain  essentially. 
You  wake  and  sleep:  the  small  impress 

Of  thmgs  around  soon  passes:  still 
This  consciousness  is  more  or  less 
Some  phosphorescence  of  the  Will: 
A  surface  light  too  weak  to  fill 
The  underlying  entity 

Whose  lust  of  living  naught  may  kill: 
You  remain  essentially. 
And  while  your  body  wears  away, 

And  all  your  thoughts  disintegrate. 
You  weave  new  vestures  every  day, 
And  dreams  with  dreams  obliterate; 
For  you  the  outer  ways  await 
Because  of  your  desire  to  be: 

But  high  or  low,  thro'  every  state, 
You  remain  essentially. 
From  life  to  life  you  dwell  within 

A  candle  gleam  of  memory; 
And  as  it  vanishes— what  then? 
You  remain  -essentially. 
56 


Ballade  of  the  Mystic  and  the 


X 


Mud 

F  I  from  universal  mud 

By  chance  malign  came  bubbling 
Uncouthly  into  flesh  and  blood, 
Ugly,  futile,  struggling, 
All  in  mud  again  to  bring,-— 
Why  then  at  the  heart  of  me 

What  is  this  that  needs  must  sing? 
There  is  no  end  to  mystery. 
If  I,  with  reverence,  would  read 

Upon  the  mud  God's  autograph. 
And  find  instead  a  wormy  screed. 
With  never  a  sign  on  my  behalf 
To  light  my  coming  epitaph. — 
Why  then  at  the  heart  of  me 

What  is  this  that  needs  must  laugh? 
There  is  no  end  to  mystery. 
If  I,  a  mere  automaton 

In  a  brief  and  paltry  play, 
Am  but  a  group  of  atoms  drawn 
Powerless  upon  my  way 
To  mud  again,  as  savants  say, — 
Why  then  at  the  heart  of  me 

What  is  this  that  needs  must  pray? 
There  is  no  end  to  mystery. 
Brother,  kneel  intuitive 

To  a  stone  if  you  will,  or  a  carven  tree ! 
And  sing  and  laugh  and  pray— and  live! 
There  is  no  end  to  mystery. 
57 


^ilSms  af  a  JSnuniipr 
God's  Kaleidoscope 

Into  the  charnel  of  the  Past, 
And  Death  is  ever  the  final  word. 

O  much  too  n,uch  of  this  I  have  heard- 
Of  course  we  know  tha,  all  things  flow 

ThI  ^"■.=r°""  ""*"  G^«k.expli„s    • 

Ind  ne  ;^    "•"'"  """  erea,  chains    ' 
And  neither  you  nor  I  can  dream 

Why  t":;,^".  ""  ^"P  '"™  '"e  Scheme: 

Or  -  :htx'- :  rh:'<^::;:r "-  ■''- 

Or  Where  into  what  the  wi^d  hW^r  """' 

j^rrhSiTfr--—- 
Hj--"-rdTwr 

What  h."'  °'  '"  """^"P  ^°"°- 
What  he  resents— oblivion' 

O  great  Omar!    I  bow  to  you, 

And  nod  familiar  to  Villon 

But  I  have  neither  hope  no'r  fear 
O   bemg  disperst  in  the  atmosphere- 
Obhv,on-I  wish  there  were 
iuch  easy  exit  on  the  air 
Beyond  desire,  beyond  regret, 

58 


And  clearly  out  of  anywhere: 
To  be,  so  far  as  we're  concern'd. 
An  issue  without  sequence— nay 
Too  much  of  Nature's  game  we've  learn'd 
To  credit  that,  I  think,  Omar! 
Your  rose  has  wither'd— well,  that's  clear; 
But  of  itself  'twas  a  passing  phase, 
And  may  again  on  a  day  of  the  days 
From  the  undistinguish'd  mass  appear. 
As  much  itself  as  is  itself 
Now  in  the  light  of  your  partial  eye: 
And  as  for  the  snows  of  yester-year, 
Why.  every  flake  of  them  still  is  here 
No  one  of  all  has  'scaped  from  charge 
In  sea  or  sky  or  whirling  storm : 
So  looking  at  it  by  and  large 
It  seems  entirely  a  matter  of  form : 
There  is  no  pit  of  nothingness 
Wherein  what  is  can  e'er  be  less. 
And  we  may  say  of  everything 
It  is  itself  continuing: 
The  very  shadows  that  we  see 
Are  fast  involved ;  'tis  a  safe  guess 
No  thing  has  been,  no  thing  can  be, 
That  is  not  now  essentially ; 
And  evermore  we  yet  may  hope 
Within  our  little  nets  to  rope 
Some  of  that  endless  element 
Of  mystery  and  beauty  blent 
With  the  turning  of  God's  kaleidoscope. 

59 


I 


Ballade  of  Comfortable 
Doctrine 

fO  we  have  come  to  life,  it  seems, 

And  would  escape  the  consequence; 
And  many  men,  with  many  schemes, 
Would  tell  us  how  and  why  and  whence; 
Good  friends,  I  do  you  reverence, 
But  weary  of  your  subtleties : 

I  only  pray,  when  we  go  hence, 
God  will  put  us  all  at  ease. 
Maybe  some  Jack-o'-Lantern  gleams 

Across  the  swamp  of  my  offence ; 
Maybe  too  high  my  heart  esteems 
God's  ultimate  benevolence; 
Of  knowledge  I  make  no  pretence, 
My  one  religion's  been  to  please. 

But  this  I  hold  in  confidence : 
God  will  put  us  all  at  ease. 
By  night  more  faith  I  have  in  dreams 
Than  ever  by  day  in  common-sense ; 
And  there's  more  of  night  than  day  mescems. 
And  weird  deeps  beyond  science 
To  test  our  wee  intelligence 
And  little  glow-worm  theories : 

At  night  I  think,  for  recompense, 
God  will  put  us  all  at  ease. 
Brother,  I  find  some  evidence. 
Despite  our  many  miseries. 
That  after  life's  last  negligence 
God  will  put  us  all  at  ease. 

60 


SllHmf fi  nf  a  Knunft^r 


]T 


w 


Polity 


ITH  good-will,  and  a  touch  of  mirth, 
To  clear  and  clean  and  plant  and  plan 
The  common  levels  of  the  Earth: — 

What  more  should  God  then  ask  of  Man? 


61 


lUfgm^B  nf  a  Unmiirr 


liconomy 

HE  fine  contempt  that  Christ  felt 
For  his  coat,  and  cash,  and  wherewithal. 
Is  a  virtue  too  occasional 
Methinks  for  our  continuance ! 


62 


SIfgmra  nf  a  Unimiirr 


Justice 


PARE  him,  you  say :    So  be  it.  then ! 
But  I  think  it  a  mcjlin  kindliness, 
And  fear  some  day  for  better  men 
'Twill  breed  a  villainous  excess! 

'Tis  easy  enough  to  be  merciful, 
But  to  be  just  is  an  excellence 
Beyond  all  flight  of  sentiment! 


63 


SltgmB  nf  a  Somtirr 


o 


Persistence 


HE  pains  of  Life  are  all  too  many. 

And  the  Way  is  doubtful  everywhere; 
But  I  have  gone  as  far  as  any 
And  seen~and  I  do  not  despair  f 


64 


Ballade  of  the  Easy  Way 

OD  I  think  is  a  balancer, 

And  runs  the  World  by  compromise : 
From  brief  observing  I  infer 
His  line  of  least  resistance  lies 

Curving  smoothly  thro'  the  skies, 
Forever  mixing  night  and  day, 

With  all  that  such  a  thing  implies: 
Myself,  I  go  the  easy  way. 
'Tis  a  good  thing  at  times  to  fight: 

To  give  a  blow,  and  take  a  blow. 
And  hand  it  back  with  gather'd  might: 

'Tis  the  bully  plan  of  the  World  below: 

And  yet  somehow  as  we  older  grow 
We're  not  so  keen  for  every  fray : 

We'd  liefer  miss  than  meet  a  foe: 
Myself,  I  go  the  easy  way. 
Troubles  a-plenty  we  may  not  pass: 

Tangles  too  many  we  cannot  untie : 
And  there's  a  pitiful  end  for  us  all,  alast 

But  we  can  slip  round  so  much,  if  we  try, 

Or  stay  things  off  till  by  and  by 
We  find  they  mostly  are  off  to  stay, 

Or  matter  no  more  at  all :  that's  why 
Myself,  I  go  the  easy  way. 

And  the  value  of  laughter,  the  value  of  tears. 
And  the  meanmg  of  Life  may  be  as  it  may : 

In  the  bitter-sweet  wisdom  of  later  years 
Myself,  I  go  the  easy  way. 

65 


iUjgmi^a  of  a  ffiouniFr 


© 


Aspiration 


UT  give  me  the  air!    Always  the  air! 
The  clean  ways,  and  wings,  wings. 
To  reach  beyond  accepted  things, 

And  venture  flights  unendable! 


66 


SltgmpB  of  a  Snunirr 


White  Magic 


GANDOR  may  be  devilish, 
And  truth  untimely  open  Hell: 
Better  pretend  the  thing  you  wish : 
Anon  you  may,  if  you  wish  and  wish, 
Achieve  a  miracle. 

Once  an  ugly  truth  1  saw. 

And  I  hid  it  with  a  lie ; 
Cunning,  for  I  knew  the  law, 
I  cover'd  it,  and  smother'd  it. 

And  kill'd  it  with  a  lie : 
No  man  there  was  that  knew  of  it. 

And  many  days  went  by. 


Lo,  something  fair  hath  risen  like 

A  lily  from  the  sod ! 
And  the  lie  is  now  the  truth  of  it. 
Become  the  splendid  truth  of  it, — 

Glory  be  to  God! 


I 


67 


iSligm^a  nf  a  Knmiirr 


n 


Departure 


ET  me  from  this  World  go  free 
Before  the  last  of  me  is  spent! 
While  yet  some  few  fair  girls  lament. 
And  some  good  fellows  cherish  me ! 


66 


fih^mpB  nf  a  Soimlipr 
Ballade  of  Faith 

X     THINK  between  my  cradle-bars 
Of  a  summer  night  there  fell  to  me 
Some  pale  religion  of  the  stars, 
While  an  old  Moon  lookt  weirdly 
At  me  thro'  an  apple-tree 
And  fixt  my  faith  in  a  fair  One 

Fading  out  of  memory: 
But  I  would  that  I  knew  where  my  Lord  is  gouc! 
Things  there  are  by  night  I  know 

That  in  the  day  I  ne'er  detect: 
Stars  that  shine  from  long  ago 
Until  bewilder'd  I  suspect 
The  obvious  World  is  not  correct, 
And  fear  too  much  to  lean  upon 

The  showings  of  mere  intellect: 
But  I  would  that  I  knew  where  my  Lord  is  gone! 
In  my  own  fashion  I  persist : 

No  counsel  of  despair  I  brook : 
Neither  for  priest  nor  pessimist, 
Nor  the  jealous  God  nor  his  black  Book : 
My  early  faith  I've  not  forsook 
For  the  low  things  that  pass  anon: 

With  eyes  unspoil'd  to  the  stars  I  look- 
But  I  would  that  I  knew  where  my  Lord  is  gone! 
And  caring  less  how  the  World  esteems 

Me  or  my  doing  I  go  on 
With  incommunicable  dreams — 
But  I  would  that  I  knew  where  my  Lord  is  gone! 

69 


n 


9 


fitrymra  of  a  Souni^r r 
Good-Bye 

ViUanellc 

LL  things  are  reapt  beneath  the  sky, 

And  I'll  be  gone  before  the  year: 
Girl,  in  October  we  say  good-bye! 


Remember  how  the  May  was  mere 
With  white  and  green  and  violet! 
Remember  all  that  foUow'd,  dear! 

How  June,  with  wreath  and  coronet 

Of  many  roses  amorous 
Led  us  dreaming  deeper  yet! 

Thro'  red  July  victorious 

To  August,  ample,  passionate! 
No  lovers  e'er  had  more  than  us. 

Now  bronze  September  soon  will  set: 

I  want  no  life  extended  drear 
Till  Youth  and  Summer  we  forget 

O  Autumn,  haunted,  sweet  and  sere! 

All  things  are  reapt  beneath  the  sky! 
And  I'll  be  gone  before  the  year: 

Girl,  in  October  we  say  good-bye! 


Viif^mtB  of  a  Somtbrr 
Ballade  of  Rags 

NCE  to  my  fancy  I  was  drest, 

Ready  to  challenge  the  ways  of  chance; 
_•      Body  and  bone  were  of  the  best, 

And  I  rode  away  in  the  blue  distance 

And  ravisht  Life  in  high  joyance 
Of  all  her  many  beauties:    H^y, 

How  now  with  alter'd  countenance 
I  go  in  the  rags  of  yesterday! 
Once  I  went  largely  at  my  ease. 

And  humor *d  myself  with  fine  gusto; 
Nor  riches  then,  nor  dignities 

I  sought,  but  the  rare  scenario 

Where  love  is  wrought  to  a  rosy  glow 
With  clinging  to  forbidden  clay : 

And  I  had  it  and  had  it  and  had  it — so 
I  go  in  the  rags  of  yesterday ! 
I  have  no  heart  for  the  poverty 

That  comes  to  all — you  understand: 
Yet  with  these  relics  left  to  me, 

This  jtwell,  this  ribbon  contraband. 

From  my  illicit  vanisht  land, 
I  keep  what  fashion  I  may — but  say 

Is  there  no  future  in  my  hand? 
I  go  in  the  rags  of  yesterday ! 
Oh  tell  me  1*11  travel  sometime  in  style 

To  a  fair  estate  so  far  and  away ! 
For  I  sing  me  a  weary  tune  the  while 

I  go  in  the  rags  of  yesterday ! 
71 


Sllgm^a  nf  a  iStnuni^r 


G 


To  the  Night 

Cantel 

OOD  luck  to  all  who  throng 
The  ways  of  laughter  and  song ! 

But  if  for  some  they  seem  too  brief— 
For  some  they  seem  too  long. 

Myself  I  have  been  a  great  thief 
Of  pleasure  to  lighten  one  grief, 

But  now— say  now  do  you  fancy  it  wrong 
If  I  turn  to  the  night  for  relief? 

Good  luck  to  all  who  throng 
The  ways  r    laughter  and  song! 

But  wea  y  I  turn  to  the  night  for  relief— 
And  I  pray  that  the  night  be  long. 


72 


J 


X 


Ballade  of  Sleep 

'VE  lost  my  taste  for  things  somehow 
That  on  a  time  were  very  sweet: 
Sin  has  no  savor  for  me  now, — 
I  find  no  apples  good  to  rat: 

You  laugh,  and  say  that  I'm  effete. 
But  you  are  on  the  way,  my  friend, 

And  after  me  you'll  soon  repeat: 
Sleep  is  the  best  thing  in  the  end. 
Yet  I  come  not  with  sour  intent 

Against  my  old  desires  to  prate: 
Truly  I  do  not  repent, 

I  only  wish  I  knew  some  great 

Exultant  vice  to  stimulate 
What  spark  of  Life  remains  to  spend: 

But  this  I  feel,  as  the  hour  grows  late, 
Sleep  is  the  best  thing  in  the  end. 
All  things  wear  out,  so  much  we  see: 

All  things  must  fall  without  reprieve: 
Yet  spite  of  that  invincibly 

Upon  the  brink  I  still  believe 

That  God  has  hidden  up  his  sleeve 
For  us  some  golden  dividend: 

What  think  you  then  we  shall  receive? 
Sleep  is  the  best  thing  in  the  end. 
Brother,  down  on  a  soundless  bed 

From  the  ways  of  pain  may  we  descend? 
The  stars  creep  dimly  overhead: — 

Sleep  is  the  best  thing  in  the  end. 
73 


jRIf gm^fi  of  a  iRnunb? r 
Ballade  of  the  Lost  Castle 

NCE  upon  a  time  there  stood 
A  Castle  by  the  Western  sea: 
Near  by  there  was  a  gnomish  wood 
Ancient  and  wild  with  glamorie 

Of  ferly  things  wrought  secretly: 
There  I  was  free  as  it  were  mine, 

For  those  who  ruled  were  kin  to  me: 
But  the  Lords  o'  the  Castle  are  dead  lang  syne! 
Oft  in  that  wood  from  my  old  beldame 

I  fled  thro'  husht  elf-haunted  ways: 
But  the  clatter  there  was  when  the  gay  Lords  came 

Laughing  back  from  their  brave  forays! 

Great  sport  they  had,  and  high  feast  days, 
FoUow'd  by  long  red  nights  of  wine, 

With  ball  and  banquet  rooms  ablaze: 
But  the  Lords  o'  the  Castle  are  dead  lang  syne ! 
A  moment  now  to  me  it  seem'd 

As  if  low  golden  bells  had  rung 
Out  of  the  forest  where  I  dream'd 

Years  ago  when  I  was  young : 

And  even  now  'twas  on  my  tongue 
To  tell  a  tale  too  fair  and  fine 

For  the  like  of  these  I  dwell  among : 
But  the  I  ords  o'  the  Castle  are  dead  lang  syne ! 
Slow  accumulating  hours! 

And  the  last  rays  of  the  Sun  shine 
Redly  over  the  ruin'd  towers! 

But  the  Lords  o'  the  Castle  are  dead  lang  syntl 

74 


Slfgmi^B  of  a  fiflunif r 


With  the  Seven  Sleepers 

Cantel 


ue 


O 


FAIRY,  take  me  far 
To  some  encnanted  star! 

Let  me  go  sleep  for  a  thousand  years 
Where  the  Seven  Sleepers  are! 


Beyond  the  striving  spheres, 
Beyond  all  hopes  or  fears. 

Where  never  a  black  or  golden  bar 
Of  Hell  or  Heaven  appears! 

O  Fairy,  take  rne  far 
Away  from  things  that  are! 

Let  me  go  sleep  for  a  thousand  years 
In  some  enchanted  star  J 


75 


c 


Ballade  of  Waiting 

HERE  was  a  time  that  Death  for  me 

Unbalanced  every  new  deHght: 
Its  cold  abhorrent  mystery 

Haunted  me  by  day  and  night: 

I  felt  its  noisome  clammy  blight 
Making  of  Life  a  mildew'd  thing: 

But  now  to  its  face  I  cry:     Alright! 
I'm  no  afraid  for  the  outgoing! 
Because  so  many  I  loved  have  gone 

I  stare  a-wondering  at  the  skies: 
The  World  below  I  look  upon 

With  listless,  old.  exhausted  eyes: 

The  while  for  every  friend  who  dies 
I  feel  a  queerish  loosening 

Within  of  all  familiar  ties: 
I'm  no  afraid  for  the  outgoing! 
I  weary  under  a  weight  of  days, 

Withering  and  too  sensible 
Of  aged  needs  and  alter'd  ways: 

But  this  one  thing  is  t;ood  to  tell: 

In  the  wintry  desert  where  I  dwell 
Some  rumor  I  have  heard  of  Spring, 

And  I  have  dream'd  of  asphodel: 
I'm  no  afraid  for  the  outgoing! 
The  sweet  renewal  of  the  air, 

And  ti:e  call  of  Youth  recovering,— 
Do  these   await  me   yet   somewhere? 

I'm  no  afraid  for  the  outgoing! 
76 


Sligm^B  0f  a  Rnmtbpr 


The  Isles  of  Gold 

Cantel 

WAY  from  days  too  cold. 
Away  from  hearts  too  old, 

Honey-Mouth,  O  Honey-Mouth, 
I  go  to  the  Isles  of  Gold ! 

Will  it  be  to  North  or  South 
That  I  find  them,  Honey-Mouth? 

The  King  no  entry  there  I'm  told 
Except  to  the  dead  allowethl 

So  be  it,  from  days  too  cold! 
So  be  it,  from  hearts  too  old! 

Honey-Mouth,  O  Honey-Mouth, 
I  go  to  the  Isles  of  Gold ! 


77 


Sljemra  of  a  SauuftFr 
Notes 

BALLADE    OF   THE    PICAROON: —  "He    has 

much  wrong  resting  on  himself,  and  has  crept  through 
the  worm-holes  of  all  sorts  of  errors,  in  order  to  be  able 
to  reach  many  obscure  souls  on  their  secret  paths. 
Forever  dwelling  in  some  kind  of  love,  and  some  kind 
of  selfishness  and  enjoyment.  Powerful  and  at  the 
same  time  obscure  and  resigned.  Constantly  loafing 
in  the  sunshine,  and  yet  knowing  the  ladder  which 
leads  to  the  sublime  to  be  near  at  hand." — Friedrich 
Nietzsche. 

VILLANELLE  OF  MUTTON:— Dam— A  coin  I 
am  told  of  small  value,  used  somewhere  in  the  Orient, 
perhaps  India,  and  there  giving  rise  to  a  familiar 
phrase,  as  did  the  coin  known  as  a  "rap"  in  Ireland. 
This  in  explanation,  lest  the  writer  be  thought  profane. 

MIRELLE  OF  FOUND  MONEY :— "Gerard  de 
Nerval  lived  the  transfigured  inner  life  of  the  dreamer. 
'I  am  very  tired  of  life!'  he  says.  And  like  so  many 
dreamers,  who  have  all  the  luminous  darkness  of  the 
universe  in  their  brains,  he  found  his  most  precious 
and  uninterrupted  solitude  in  the  crowded  and  more 
sordid  streets  of  great  cities."— Arthur  Symons. 

BALLADE  OF  FINE  EATING:— In  the  matter  of 
fine  eating,  and  in  maintaining  it  as  something  more 

78 


®l|gmra  nf  a  Soimft? r 

thin  the  meat,  the  good  Sir  Thomas  Browne  thus 
c;rnmended  Epicurus:  "He  (Epicurus)  was  contented 
v.ith  bread  and  water,  and  when  he  would  dine  with 
j-.c.  and  pretend  unto  epulation.  he  desired  no  other 
a:d;tion  than  a  piece  of  Cytheridian  cheese." 

GOD'S  KALEIDOSCOPE:— The  doggerelle  was 
anciently  a  form  nearest  to  the  impromptu  chant:  but 
nowadays  it  is  seldom  used  to  serious  purpose.  The 
doggerelle  is  not  the  pursuit  of  a  tale,  as  some  have 
s.:pposed,  but  is  an  irregular  versicle  designed  to  catch 
elusive  ideas. 

POLITY,  ET  AL.:— In  a  little  workshop  under  my 
hat  are  some  broken  ballades  and  unused  lines,  from 
which  I  have  hastily  contrived  these  few  quatrains. 
having  now  neither  time  nor  inclination  to  do  more 
with  them. 


THE  END. 


79 


mi 


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